


Quid Pro Quo

by kinderjedi, sullacat



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Clint Has Issues, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Loss of Virginity, SHIELD Agent Darcy Lewis, after what happened in New York
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-26
Updated: 2013-10-26
Packaged: 2017-12-30 13:20:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 39,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1019094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinderjedi/pseuds/kinderjedi, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sullacat/pseuds/sullacat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darcy and Clint noticed each other in New Mexico, but they don’t really get acquainted until she is invited to move into Stark Tower after the events in New York. A newly-minted SHIELD agent, Darcy is learning the ropes at work while Clint is getting himself reactivated. </p><p>Meanwhile, they’re also getting closer off the clock and finding out that neither of them has all that much experience with grown-up relationships.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [2013 Marvel Bang](). 
> 
> Go check out our lovely artist Brisbanite's work [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1017783/)!!! She did an amazing job and we are eternally grateful!

Darcy wiggled over to the side of the bed and sat up, kicking the covers away. She wasn’t any closer to sleep than she’d been a couple of hours ago, and she was tired of fighting it. She got up, foregoing shoes, and grabbed a sweater to cover the soft cotton tank top and shorts she wore. Nights like this in New Mexico she’d gone to the roof, the star-gazing relaxing enough that she’d either fallen asleep in one of the lounge chairs up there, or gotten tired enough to head back to her bed. She wandered up the stairs to the common floor and crept out the door that led to the rooftop patio.

The night was clear and breezy, and Darcy walked toward a little seating alcove that was sheltered from view. When she rounded the screen created by a few potted palms and shrubbery she gave a start. Someone else had found her spot. Darcy wrapped her arms around herself, more for something to do with her hands than anything else, and nodded at Clint. They hadn’t really talked a whole lot since she’d moved in, but she liked him. He had been there, in New Mexico, and he’d started stopping by her desk when he had business at the lab, and sometimes when he didn’t. She had thought a few times that their flirting might turn into something else, but then he’d left and Eric had left and before long, New York had happened. 

“Hi,” she said at last. “You mind some company?”

"Not at all," Clint said, turning his eyes back toward the city below. There was nothing in his voice that indicated that she was bothering him, but he didn't seem interested in talking, either. At least, not at first. After a couple of minutes, he turned to her. "You settling in all right, Your Honor?" he asked, bringing his knees up to his chest as he leaned back against the wall. 

That brought a little smile to her face. "Thought you had forgotten that." The way he used to tease her when she pulled out her pre-law books, demanding that Coulson return Jane's property and her iPod. 

Clint didn't smile, but his voice warmed a little. "Nah, I didn't forget." Patting the ground next to him, he invited her to join him. "Everything alright?"

Darcy sat next to him and tipped her face up to the sky. There were a few stars visible, but mostly they were hidden by the glare of the city lights. She sighed. 

“I’m okay, I guess,” she shrugged. She shifted and angled her body more toward him. “Glad to have the first stage of training over. I haven’t seen much of you,” she added, curious. She snuggled deeper into her sweater, tucking her hands into the sleeves as the breeze picked up. It was cooler tonight than she’d realized. Goosebumps rose on her legs, but she ignored them for the moment, the fresh air pleasant. 

“This is what I missed,” she commented, taking a deep breath and leaning back against the wall. “I can’t open the windows in my apartment." She turned her head and gave him a faint smile. Darcy reached out and nudged the side of his knee. “Missed seeing your face, too. But... tell me to shut up if I’m bothering you, okay?” She didn’t remember him being so quiet, before.

But she must not have been bothering him too much, because Clint tilted his head toward her, his eyes crinkling as he smiled. "No," he shook his head slowly. "It's nice hearing your voice. A lot of folks are still a little wary about me. Kid gloves, all that shit." Clint turned back to the sky, and it looked like maybe he was thinking the same thing about the hidden stars. 

She smiled back and held up her hands. “No gloves. Promise.” She hated that people were still treating him differently, even if she could sort of understand why.

Then he frowned, glancing at her. The next thing she knew, Clint was peeling off his leather jacket, wrapping it around her shoulders. "I'd like to tell you that the first few weeks are the worst part, but," he chuckled, "once the missions start, it gets serious. Never know where you're sleeping from one night to another. Not an easy life." He quirked an eyebrow. "Makes a man wonder why you'd join up with the jackbooted thugs that stole all your things."

“Thanks.” Darcy shrugged as she snuggled into his jacket. It was warm and smelled like him, and she resisted the urge to bury her face in the collar. “I’m not afraid of serious or hard. I suppose I could’ve been a lobbyist or a congressional aide, but...” She made a face. “Politics make me twitchy. This way, I might actually get to do something useful instead of just playing nice.” 

She laughed quietly. “We got almost everything back. Still waiting for my iPod, but I haven’t given up hope. I guess...” Her face fell, and Darcy turned to look out at the city. “I forgot for a minute... I used to tease Agent Coulson about it, that he was keeping it because of my awesome taste in music.”

"I think he was," Clint said, his voice low. "He had it, always meant to give it back to you when the time was right, some funny moment. He liked you," he added, his voice almost a whisper. "Thought you were 'spunky', whatever that means." Leaning back, Clint closed his eyes, and she could see him reaching for a beer, tucked away on the other side. "For what it's worth, I think you'll make a good agent too. Just don't-" he started, then shook his head. "don't let them take advantage of you, or make you do anything that feels wrong. SHIELD is a bitch sometimes." His voice had changed, a bitter note to it.

Darcy nodded slowly. “I won’t,” she murmured. She watched him tip the bottle up and then reached out, impulsive. She slipped her hand into his free one, sidling closer, and lay her head on his shoulder. “Does telling you I’m sorry fall under the heading of treating you with kid gloves?” she asked after a quiet moment. 

Clint glanced over at her warily for just a moment before relaxing, holding her hand carefully. "From anyone else, I'd say yeah, kid gloves. But you," he paused, and she could hear the smile in his voice, "that's okay. I don't think you mean the way the others do," he added cryptically.

She caught his meaning and squeezed his hand. “Nope. I don’t.” Darcy smiled back. She liked that he hadn’t pulled away, and that he seemed to relax with her. It reminded her of before, talking and laughing when he stopped by the lab. But her eyelids were starting to get heavy, and she knew she should probably try again to get some sleep.

“As much as I’d like to stay and talk all night, I should probably go back to bed,” she admitted, stifling a yawn. Darcy shot him an apologetic look, then smiled. “Thanks for putting up with me for a little while,” she added.

"Don't worry 'bout it," he told her, sounding like he meant that. "It was nice talking to someone," he added, making it sound like he didn't talk to many people. Just as she was getting up, Clint reached out, his hand on her arm, stopping her. "I'm up here a lot, at night. When I'm home," he added, nodding his head. "If you ever need to talk, or anyone one to listen..."

“Okay,” Darcy agreed. She covered his hand with hers for a moment, glad it was dark enough that he couldn’t see her blush. “I just might take you up on that.” She stood up and started to shrug off his jacket, intending to leave it with him, but he stopped her with a shake of his head.

“You’re cold,” Clint said. “You can give it back later.”

Darcy pulled it back around her. “All right. ‘Night, Clint.” She walked back inside, aware by the time she got back to her apartment just how chilly she was. Darcy slipped the jacket off and folded it over a chair, then crawled back into bed. She was still thinking about their conversation when she drifted off.

***  
“Move it, Lewis! Go, go, go!” 

Darcy reached the top of the wall she was climbing and reached out with one hand, stretching as far as she dared to grab the blue flag. She just caught it between her index and middle fingers and tugged, snatching it as it threatened to slip away. Stuffing it in her pocket, she reached out again, this time for the rope a couple of feet from her, and shut her eyes briefly as she scrambled down. 

It turned out SHIELD’s fitness assessment was a lot like Field Day, but on steroids, and in tactical gear instead of shorts and a t-shirt. She let go of the rope and jumped the last three feet or so, then dashed to the finish line, her lungs burning and a stitch stabbing in her side as she came to a stop. The day had begun at six, and after warm ups and stretching and running, there had been hand-to-hand exercises and then this outdoor obstacle course. She was sweaty and covered in mud, and her legs were starting to feel like cooked spaghetti. 

“Not bad,” Agent Romanoff commented quietly as Darcy straightened up and swiped one dirty hand across her forehead. “Get some water. Only the swimming test is left, so when you’ve cooled down you can go shower and change, then head for the pool.”

Still a little breathless, Darcy nodded and reached into the cooler for a bottle of water, then flopped onto the ground with a groan and unzipped the vest she was wearing. She twisted the cap off and tried to make herself take small sips instead of giving in to the urge to just pour it over her head. It had to be ninety degrees, and her hair was damp and clinging against her neck where it was falling out of its braid. But she had finished everything so far, and hadn’t been last in anything. 

After a few minutes she got up, stretching her sore muscles, and headed for the locker room. On the way, she spotted Clint talking to Natasha. He looked upset about something, shaking his head as Natasha spoke, their faces close together. Clint gave her a little wave when he saw her watching them, then turned back to whatever Natasha was saying. Clearly, he didn't like it. 

So she was sort of surprised to see him at the swimming pool, leaning against the wall and watching the other agent trainees doing laps. Darcy walked over to a nearby bench and put down her towel and water bottle, her eyes on the swimmers for a few minutes while she stretched, trying to stay warm while she waited for her group to be called up. “How often does this happen, again?” she asked as she subsided onto the bench and took a drink. 

“Yearly. At least, like this,” Clint said, turning to face her, his shoulder against the wall. He seemed to take a moment to look her over, and if she hadn’t been so exhausted, Darcy probably would’ve blushed. As it was, she was very aware of the fact that she was wearing nothing but a swimsuit, even if it was a fairly conservative standard issue one-piece. Then the moment passed, and he continued. “But if you’re ever injured, you’ll have another exam to show you’re fit for duty again.”

“Makes sense,” Darcy said with a nod. “So, what brings you in here today?” He hadn’t been around for any of the earlier challenges, and she wondered what that had been about out on the field. He still looked a little irritated by whatever had passed between him and Agent Romanoff, she thought.

"Psych assessment," he told her, not sounding like he put much stock in that sort of test. "SHIELD is pissed that I'm not talking to anyone about what happened." He gave a little snort, shaking his head. "As if any of them would ever understand. Anyway," he shrugged, "how are you doing? Tasha tells me you're blowing through this test, gonna have you out in the field before you know it."

“So you’ve got to do that before you’re activated again?” she guessed. Darcy recalled what he’d said on the roof a few nights ago, how he hated being treated with kid gloves. It must have been grating on his already raw nerves, having to jump that last hurdle and talk about what he’d been through. It hadn’t been all that long, not really. But judging by the look on his face, he didn’t want to talk about it at all, so she didn’t comment when he changed the subject. “I don’t know about blowing through it. I’m starved, and I’ve got muscles aching that I didn’t even know I had, so I’m glad this is the last thing scheduled for me today.” It pleased her, though, knowing that she was doing well enough to impress Natasha.

Darcy looked up when the whistle sounded, and she saw the other group of agents climbing out of the pool. They all looked exhausted too, she noticed. She capped her water bottle and hauled herself to her feet. “Looks like it’s my turn,” she told Clint. Darcy hesitated as she started over toward the end of the pool. “If you’ll be done, you want to grab something to eat on the way back to the tower? I should be showered and changed by six or a little after.”

He looked like he could use a little distraction, and it would be fun. But it was still a long moment, Clint staring at her before he nodded. "Six," he said, the corners of his lips turning up. "Yeah, that sounds good. I'll be here, okay?" he told her seriously, as if he needed to let her know that he meant it. "And good luck out there," he called out as Darcy took her place at the edge of the pool, watching as he headed for the exit. 

The best thing that could be said about the swimming test, Darcy decided as she climbed out of the pool later, was that at least it wasn’t hot. And she liked to swim. Speed wasn’t the ultimate goal here, but instead they were expected to demonstrate competence and endurance. That meant laps. 

Lots of laps.

She walked back into the locker room for another shower, this one a little longer than her earlier one. Once she was scrubbed clean and had twisted her damp, freshly-washed hair into a knot, she moved slowly out to her locker and dressed in her street clothes again. It was five after six when she emerged again, her bag slung over her shoulder, and Darcy smiled when she saw Clint waiting. “Passed,” she called out as she approached. He was carrying what looked like a couple of grocery bags, and she gave them a curious glance as she drew closer. 

"Of course," Clint said, a little grin on his face. He looked better than he had earlier, more relaxed. It was a good look. "Um, I had a thought," he said, approaching her slowly, warily. "Instead of going out to eat, maybe I could make something for you instead?" Lifting the bags, he held them out, as if for inspection. "You like Indian food?"

Darcy looked at the bags, then up at him, surprised. “I do like Indian,” she admitted with a grin. “That sounds great.” She fell in step beside him as they walked out of the gym, her body aching from the long day. “So you cook, too. Tell me something else I don’t know about you,” she said as they headed for the door. 

He shifted the bags into one hand, reaching out to swing the door open for her. “Quid pro quo, Your Honor," he laughed. "I live a very classified life, you know." The sun was just starting to go down behind the buildings of lower Manhattan, and they fell into step together easily. "How about this - I'm partially deaf in this ear," he told her, pointing at his left one, showing her a tiny hearing device. 

“Really?” she asked as they approached their subway entrance. “Did something happen, or has it always been that way?” 

"As long as I can remember. Medics don't think I was born this way, though, so it might have been an accident when I was a kid." Darcy glanced at him as she pulled her Metrocard out of her pocket. Something about the tone of his voice told her this might be a touchy subject. "Okay, your turn now," Clint nudged her. "Any secrets I should know about before I let you into my apartment?"

She walked down the steps just ahead of him, the afternoon rush in full swing as they went through the turnstiles and squeezed into a car just before the doors shut. “A secret...” She looked up at him. “I don’t have a whole lot to hide,” she said with a shrug. “But something you don’t know, unless it’s in my file... I played softball in high school and college, had a scholarship and everything.” Until the torn ACL and the slow recovery that had followed.

Darcy held onto her bag as another couple of people wedged themselves in, and she shuffled closer to Clint to make more room. Just then the train lurched forward as it began to move, the sudden motion knocking her off balance and sending her stumbling into Clint. Automatically he wrapped an arm around her, leaning against one of the poles to keep from falling over himself. "Careful there," he murmured low, catching her eye as the train began swaying rhythmically along its rails. 

He asked her a few questions about softball as the train sped along, starting and stopping a few times before they reached their station. By the time they climbed up the stairs and into the fading sunlight, Clint knew quite a bit about her collegiate sports career, and had asked questions that let Darcy know that he was really interested in hearing more. He put his hand on Darcy's shoulder as they began walking down the street toward Stark Tower, helping to guide her through the dinner time crowd starting to mass on the sidewalks. 

The hand on her shoulder felt good, and Darcy moved a little closer into his side as they approached the tower. Once they were inside they made their way to the elevator, which opened as they walked up. “Good evening, Agents Barton and Lewis,” JARVIS said as they stepped inside. 

“Hi, JARVIS,” Darcy said, looking up at the camera with a smile as the doors shut. “Having a good day? Anyone blow anything up while we were gone?” she asked. 

“All areas of the tower appear to be secure, Agent Lewis, so I believe the day could best be described as uneventful.” 

Clint grinned at the exchange. “Sounds like a good day to me. Oh, we’ll both be getting off at my floor, JARVIS. Thanks.” He turned to Darcy. “Or did you want to drop your things off, or change clothes first?” 

Darcy shook her head. “I’m good. I showered again after the pool, and these clothes are pretty comfortable,” she told him. She’d dressed casually, knowing she would be changing into other gear for the assessment, just a simple skirt and top with flat shoes. “As long as you don’t mind me taking my shoes off when we get inside,” she added. 

"Please, make yourself at home," he told her as the elevator slowed and the doors opened. Clint's suite of rooms was to the left, and Darcy could hear the click of the door unlocking as they approached. Most of the floor plans in the tower were similar, but she could see immediately some alterations that had been made for Clint, like a rock climbing set-up along one of the high walls. Dropping the bags on the kitchen counter, he turned to her, looking a little nervous all of a sudden. "Feel free to get comfortable over there," he said, pointing at the living area.

Darcy walked over to put her bag down at the end of the sofa and looked around the room. It was neat, at first glance, but looked lived in, with odds and ends lined up on the shelves and tables. A pair of running shoes were tucked under the coffee table. She slipped her own shoes off and nudged them under there as well, out of the way. 

"Can I get you a drink?" he asked while he unpacked the grocery bags. "I've got some soda, milk, um, and beer. I think there's wine around here too," he added, opening and closing the cabinets above his stovetop. 

“Beer sounds perfect, actually,” Darcy told him. She’d been drinking water and sports drinks all day to keep hydrated, but now she wanted to indulge a little. Taking the beer, she thanked him, then walked around the living room to try and get a better take on Clint. 

It was hard to tell from his strange collection of possessions. There was a huge leather sofa, very modern looking, opposite an even bigger television set, all shiny and chrome. She laughed quietly to herself when she spotted the video game consoles underneath, controllers and games scattered everywhere. Clint didn't have a lot of furniture, but what he did have was covered in small knick-knacks, bits of colored glass and pottery that looked like they came from all over the world. No art prints on the walls; they were decorated instead with old bows and quivers. An oversized antique quilt covered a recliner, with an iPad lying on top. 

Darcy thought that diametric sort of summed up the apartment - a mix of bachelor pad and her grandmother's attic. _Curious_ , she thought to herself as she headed back toward the kitchen, where he was starting to cut up vegetables. She settled down on one of the bar stools, watching him work. Clint looked up and gave her a crooked smile, then returned to his chopping. 

“Can I help with anything?” Darcy asked, impressed with the sight of the fresh vegetables and other ingredients laid out on the counter. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected when he’d offered to cook, but this looked like it was going to be good, everything cooked from scratch. 

“Nope,” Clint told her, shaking his head. “I offered to cook for you,” he reminded her. “Besides, you’ve had a long day. I know how those sessions are, especially if you're not used to them.” 

“I guess you do,” Darcy replied. She took a drink from her bottle of beer, then stretched, groaning softly as she did. “I’ll probably really feel it in the morning, when all the bumps and bruises have had time to set in.” She propped her elbow on the bar, grinning as he pushed the vegetables aside and began cutting up a chicken. 

"Remind me later, I've got some meds for that, if you want. Nothing too strong, anyway - unless you think you'll need it." Clint turned back to the stove, heating up some pans and soon the kitchen was filled with the sounds and smells of food. "So, any regrets right now at joining the agency?" he asked, pulling out plates and utensils and setting them on the counter.

“Okay,” Darcy said. “I was thinking about a soak in the hot tub later, or just a hot bath, but I’ll take you up on that. I don’t think I’ll need anything too strong.” She was achy but not overwhelmingly so, at least not at the moment. Darcy breathed in the mingled scents of the cooking food as she watched Clint work, her stomach growling as she took another sip of her drink. “No regrets so far. I’m sort of curious about what my first assignment is going to be.”

“I’d say it’ll probably be something pretty routine, to let you get your legs under you, so to speak,” Clint began, stirring a pan and then putting the wooden spoon down to take a drink of beer. He glanced over at her as he put the bottle back down on the counter. “But from what I’ve heard and seen, you really knocked them out today. Might be something a little more challenging waiting for you,” he said. 

"You think so?" she asked, genuinely curious about his thoughts on the subject.

"Yeah, though I gotta admit, I never pegged you for the secret agent type." he told her, watching her more closely. "Why are you doing this?"

It was a good question, one she'd asked herself during the rigorous training. Darcy's plans had once included Columbia Law and a job with some environmental firm, helping to save the planet from all kinds of jackbooted thugs.

That is, until Phil Coulson gave her his card and showed her other ways the planet needed saving. "I guess it’s because I figured out that the jackbooted thugs aren’t necessarily the biggest and baddest things out there," she explained. She’d seen that for herself.

A few more minutes and he was plating, the colorful vegetables in the rice contrasting the familiar curry-colored chicken. "Your turn to answer my question now. Where did you learn to cook this?" she asked, taking her plate and thanking him before taking a bite. "This is Chicken Tikka?" 

Clint took a bite, chewing slowly before answering, "Not sure" he told her. "I'm sure it's got a name, but I don't know what it is, just how to make it."

"It's fantastic," Darcy told him. "Does SHIELD have cooking classes too?" she asked, laughing. "Should I be expecting that memo coming from Fury one of these days?"

The face Clint made was priceless. "No," he told her, chuckling. "SHIELD isn't known for throwing the lavish buffet spread, either. A working lunch with Fury and team means someone runs to White Castle. Not that I'm opposed to a good burger now and then, but..." Taking another bite of his food, he nodded, pleased. "I like to eat, so I learned how to cook. It's really not that hard, once you get the hang of it. Cut up some meat, cut up some vegetables, heat them up. Toss in some spices, and there you go."

“I’ve had the White Castle lunch,” Darcy admitted. “Good to know I’m not missing out, then.” She tore off a piece of naan and dipped it in the sauce on her plate. “This is definitely better. I guess when you have to be away for days or weeks at a time, it’s good to just come home and make something instead of getting take out,” she mused. 

“There is that,” Clint admitted. “But I’ve picked up ideas, too, new recipes and things to try.” He paused for a drink, then continued. “And, to be fair, I’ve had to eat plenty of things I didn’t like when I’m away, so I try not to do that at home.” He shrugged, but didn’t elaborate. 

Darcy accepted a small plate of seconds, and by the time she was finished and working on her second beer she was feeling warm and full, and much more relaxed. “You can cook for me any time,” she informed him with a grin as she watched him stack the plates in the sink. She took another slow drink, then put the bottle down. “How’d the rest of your afternoon go?” she asked, curious. “Better, I hope. You looked pretty upset earlier.”

"I was." Clint told her then, looking out the large window that looked over Manhattan. "Got better once I got out of there, went shopping for dinner. I just," Clint paused, scratching at the back of his neck, “you know, they want me to talk about what happened that day. How I feel about what Loki did to me, how I feel about what I did. And I really don't want to, I just want to forget it all happened, but I can't because Phil is gone." He stopped talking, folding his hands together and Darcy worried that her question had touched a nerve. 

"You two were close," she said. It hadn't been a secret that Barton and Romanoff worked primarily with Coulson, but there was more to it than that, she'd learned in New Mexico. They were genuine friends off-duty, and she could only imagine his death struck a deep chord inside Clint, even without the attached feelings of guilt. "Tell me about how you two met."

Clint stared at her for a long moment before he answered. "He showed up one day when I was in Afghanistan, handed me his card and told me to call him when I wanted to do some real fighting." He went on to describe how Coulson recruited him, introduced him to the world of SHIELD. 

"Sounds like his MO," Darcy agreed with him. "I think I've still got his card with my New Mexico stuff. He was a great guy, Clint. He'd be proud of you, how you've handled all of this."

"Not all of it." Clint shook his head, then looked up at her. "I hope you don't mind about this again," he said, pointing at the food. "I'm still a little... 'twitchy' in crowds, prefer being alone. Or with friends," he added, pointing his beer bottle at her. "The invitation surprised me, I gotta admit. Not a lot of people are still that comfortable around me, after what happened."

“I thought we’d established that I’m not ‘a lot of people’?” Darcy reminded him, thinking about their talk on the roof that night. She bit her lip, feeling chagrined. “I didn’t think about you not wanting to be out in a crowd, though, and I probably should’ve. But I really am glad you suggested this instead. I’m having a good time,” she told him with a smile.

“I’m having fun, too,” Clint told her, but then he shook his head. “Don’t worry about me. You didn’t know. I mean, just a few weeks ago, I was a normal guy. Mostly normal anyway," he grinned, half a smirk on his face. "I remember one time we all went and had a beer together at that bar you guys liked, back in New Mexico. You and your friend Jane. And Eric." Clint's face got that haunted look for a moment, then he shook it off. "Good times back then. Hell, I think I even tried to hit on you," Clint told her, looking slightly ashamed of himself. "Feels like a lifetime ago."

“...We were playing darts, and you corrected my grip,” Darcy said with a grin. “That was a good night, right up until Jane threw up on Eric.” She remembered Clint standing just behind her, reaching around to adjust her fingers on the dart, then guiding her through the throw... and there’d been a moment, yeah. She’d hit the bullseye, and turned to him with a squeal and a broad smile, and just for a moment she’d thought he might kiss her, the way his eyes had dropped to linger on her mouth. Instead, he’d helped her and Eric get a very drunk Jane home. 

She had thought about that night a lot, but Clint had been sent away not long after, and Eric had gone, too. Clint looked a little lost in thought as well, as if he were remembering that night. "Well, here's to starting over," he said, lifting his beer bottle. "And good friends. I appreciate what you're doing here, trying to help me out."

“To starting over,” Darcy murmured, lifting her own bottle. She started to protest that she wasn’t trying to ‘help’ him, not really, but when she thought about it, she reflected that it was true. She’d wanted to distract him from his troubles, at least for a little while... and, if she were honest, see if that ‘something’ was still there. “...And to good friends.” 

They talked more while Clint finished straightening up the kitchen, and then watched the end of the Yankees game on television. It was nice, just hanging out and talking, and then there were the exchanged glances, the touches that made her wonder again if he felt something, too. When he offered to pack her up a container of leftovers for lunch Darcy agreed, and when he saw her stifling a yawn a few minutes later he offered to walk her back to her apartment. It was a sweet gesture, and Darcy nodded, then stood up and slipped her shoes back on. She was reluctant to leave, but so tired that she knew it was time to go. 

Clint picked up her bag before she could protest, and when she gave him a look he shrugged. “You’re sore from today,” was all he said. 

“Yeah, that hot bath is sounding better and better,” Darcy agreed. 

When they reached her door Darcy turned to Clint and smiled. “Thanks again for dinner. I had a really good time.” She opened the door, and Clint followed her inside. He dropped her bag on the table and put the leftovers in the refrigerator for her. 

“Go enjoy your bath,” he told her with a grin that suggested he liked that particular mental image. Then he reached out and tugged on a lock of her hair that had escaped its knot. “Night, Darce. Thanks for putting up with me for a while.” Then he was gone, the door closing quietly behind him. 

Darcy thought about that playful tug on her hair while she was drawing her bath. Clint wasn’t terribly demonstrative that she’d noticed, but he hadn’t shied away from physical contact with her, and the looks he gave her suggested he might still be interested in more than just friendship. She wondered what that would be like. They enjoyed each other’s company, and they never seemed to run out of things to talk about. He’d even admitted he had tried to hit on her in New Mexico, so he was definitely attracted. 

She slipped into the bath, groaning as the heat began doing its magic. Darcy stretched as the aches in her muscles began to ease. Yes, Clint was interested, by all appearances, she thought as she soaked in the tub. Her hands began to wander, gliding over her wet skin as she imagined what he would be like, how he would touch her body. He was so strong, but there was a playful, even goofy side to Clint that suggested sex with him would be fun, and she was pretty sure it would be amazing to feel his body against hers. Inside her. 

Darcy bent one knee, giving her hand more room as it moved between her legs, covering the entire mons. Squeezing the warm, wet skin, she two fingers slid further down on either side of her labia, gently spread herself open. 

Hmmmm. She touched her breast, a wet finger circling a hard nipple, and she sighed as the tingle spread all over her body. What would it be like, when it finally happened? Darcy was a healthy sexual woman who just hadn't had sex yet and there were times when she felt like a freak, even though she knew better. Darcy had yet to find the right man, the right time... 

_Clint_. She imagined what it would be like, having sex with him. To feel his fingers on her body, thicker, rougher than hers. His voice, low and hungry, murmuring dirty words in her ear, all the things he wanted her to do to him. _With him_. Touching her clitoris, Darcy inhaled sharply, her eyes snapping shut at the feel if it, pressing it between her fingers. Her hips rolled upward and she felt that tingling deepening, and she keened loudly, the soft sound echoing against the tile as the water splashed over the side of the tub.

And then... then... Darcy inhaled sharply as her climax hit her, wave after wave spreading through her body. Leaning to the side, Darcy blinked, resting her head against the cool tile.

She soaked in the tub for a while longer, but when her fingers and toes began to wrinkle she climbed out and dried herself off, then cleaned up the water that had splashed everywhere. Doing that made her imagine sharing a bath with Clint, and Darcy felt another tug of lust deep inside as she turned off the light and walked back out into the bedroom. 

Time for bed. Darcy pulled a nightgown over her head and crawled between the covers, warm and sleepy and now totally relaxed. She was asleep in minutes.


	2. Chapter 2

Clint seemed to make himself scarce that weekend, not hanging out in any of the common areas of Stark Tower. Even Natasha didn't seem sure where he was hiding. Once she returned to headquarters on Monday, Darcy spotted Clint walking the halls, back in uniform. There was something different about him, a spring in his step and it took her a few days to realize Clint looked like he used to, before all that had happened to him. The swagger - it was back, some of it at least.

She'd heard rumors, over lunch with a couple other new recruits, that Clint had gone into Fury's office, demanding his place back on the team. Soon after he was put back on rotation. Darcy meant to search him out to find out if the rumors were true, but she’d been drafted into a project by Agent Sitwell, who’d had her scouring intel files for days putting together a report for a mission. When she had a free moment at last, Darcy made her way to Clint’s office and knocked on the open door. 

He was leaning back in his chair, his feet up on the desk as he read something on a tablet. Darcy leaned against the door, arms crossed, and felt a grin tugging at her lips. “A little bird told me you talked your way back on.”

“Something like that,” Clint agreed, looking up. He put the tablet aside and leaned back in the chair. "I'd like to say it was my usual charm, but we all know that's a load of crap." Kicking his feet off the desk, Clint leaned forward, a thoughtful look crossing his face. "Actually, I think I've got you to thank for it. That talk we had last week, it sort of reminded me who I used to be, that guy. I liked that guy, you know? Missed seeing him around, and I don't know..." Clint shrugged, taking a deep breath. "I guess it was time to stop wallowing in my guilt."

“You’re welcome, though I’m not convinced I did all that much,” Darcy said with a smile. She walked in and settled her hip on the edge of his desk. “I missed that guy, too,” she admitted, her head tilted slightly as she looked down at him. “I’m glad he’s back.”

“You got me thinking about something other than myself,” Clint informed her. He looked down for a moment. "Phil, he'd have done that. Gotten me out of my own head." Then Clint laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Of course, he'd have kicked my ass after talking me down off the ledge, but that was his way. Your way worked too." Looking up at her, his face seemed to get serious for a moment as he added, "Thanks again. You don't know... well, it was the right talk at the right time. Just what I needed."

Darcy nodded, her own expression turning serious and a little shy. “Any time,” she told him, meaning it. Seeing him smile and laugh like this, looking more like his old self… it felt good, and she liked knowing she’d helped. Something about that serious expression on his face made her heart beat a little faster, and Darcy moistened her lips and tried to ignore the butterflies. “So... I know you said you still don’t really feel all that comfortable in crowds,” she began slowly, “but I had this idea.”

She bit her lip as she watched him, gauging his reaction. Darcy took a slow, deep breath and pushed on before she lost her nerve. “I was wondering if maybe you’d like to go out sometime?”

For a moment no one said anything. Clint looked at her warily. "You mean," he began, "like going out and eating or something?"

“We could,” Darcy replied with a slow nod, not entirely sure what that look meant. “Or we could do something else. A movie or a show, or... I don’t know. Lots of things. I hear Coney Island’s fun.” She felt her face starting to get warm, but instead of looking down or trying to play it off as a casual invitation, she just looked him in the eye. “Or... if you’d feel more comfortable, you could come over to my place. We could order pizza, because I’m not nearly as good a cook as you, and watch a movie or something.” 

He still didn’t quite seem to be on the same page as her, and Darcy felt her cheeks burn hotter. “I mean, I’d like to go out with you. Like a date.”

"A date," Clint repeated, looking a little deer-in-headlights. 

"Yep. A date," Darcy said one more time, hoping to lighten the mood, which had gone from playful to something more serious in just a couple seconds. "You and me, spending time together." This wasn't going entirely the way she planned, so Darcy decided it was time to lay her cards on the table. "I like you, Barton, and I think you like me. We could have fun together, you know?"

"Darcy," Clint began, and even without looking at his face, she knew something was wrong, just from the tone of his voice. "It's not that I don't like you, I mean, I do. You know that. Probably too much." He paused, all of a sudden awkward, a strange distance in the room. "I just - shouldn't you be hanging out with guys a little closer to your own age?"

“Maybe I like old guys,” she countered, the corner of her mouth turning up just a little. Inside, though, Darcy was confused, and felt like she was missing something. He’d as much as admitted that he’d tried to hit on her before, back in New Mexico, and there had definitely been flirting on both sides. “Besides, you’re not that much older than me. Now, if I were asking, say, Director Fury out, you might have an argument there. Does anyone actually know how old he is, anyway?” she asked, folding her arms to keep from fidgeting with her hands and showing how nervous she was. 

“Definitely too old,” Clint said, his voice flat. “And don’t talk about Fury and dating in the same sentence. Please,” he added, looking unsettled at the very idea. Darcy grinned, but her expression faltered when he didn’t smile back. “Look, Darcy - I’ve got a lot of baggage, all right? You don’t need that.”

"Why don't you let me worry about what I need, old man," Darcy retorted, trying to get some of that levity back. "So what, are you turning me down?" she asked, one hand on her hip and what might have been a pout on her face.

Clint took a deep breath, and just when she thought he was about to brush her off for good, his face broke into a shy smile of his own. "I haven't been to Coney Island in a while," he confessed, reaching for her hand and giving it a warm squeeze. 

***

Darcy wasn’t entirely sure how she got through the rest of the week, but before she knew it Friday had rolled around again, and neither she nor Clint had been sent off anywhere. She was glad, too. Once he’d actually accepted and they’d agreed on Coney Island, she’d spent the rest of that day buried in intel again. But this time she had a smile on her face that just wouldn’t quit and the memory of Clint’s hand on hers, warm and a little rough with calluses. 

They’d both been busy the rest of the week, one or the other of them going in early or staying late, but they’d had lunch at the same table one day, along with Steve and Natasha. It had been fun, but she’d caught the other woman watching her closely a couple of times. Clint was either ignoring this, or oblivious to it, so Darcy followed his cue and tried not to make anything of it.

Then Saturday came, and all of a sudden it was happening. Clint knocked on her door at exactly ten in the morning, and and hour later they were walking down the boardwalk, hand in hand, watching as what looked like the entire population of Brooklyn poured into the park. "I didn't think it'd be this crowded," she told him, and gave Clint an apologetic squeeze. "I didn't think about the crowds here."

Clint just shook his head. "It's okay, Darce. Not really the crowds that bother me," he began. They took a few more steps before he continued. "More like the feeling that people would recognize me as that guy that killed all those people." For a moment, it looked as if that guilt would overtake him again, but soon it passed. "I'm gonna have to get over that. Get past it, right?"

Darcy moved a little closer and looped her arm through his, her other hand coming up to rest on his forearm. “That wasn’t you,” she told him, her voice soft but clear. She didn’t know all the details, just enough to hate how he had been manipulated. But the fact that it was the guilt eating at him most told her what she already knew. “You’re a good guy, Clint, and if I didn’t already know that, it wouldn’t take long to figure it out. You’re concerned about what happened to the others, the people Loki killed.” And less so about what had happened to him, at least on the surface. Darcy shrugged. “You’ll get past it in your own way. I’m pretty sure there’s no set timeline for that,” she added, nudging him gently. “But if it helps, I think if anyone here’s going to recognize you, it’s gonna be because you’re that guy who helped save the city.”

He gave a short laugh, but Clint looked down at her hand on his arm, then another of those shy smiles crept across his face. They continued in silence for a moment as a boisterous group of small children swarmed past them. “You’re good at this, Lewis,” he said at last. Clint looked sideways at her, and Darcy wished his sunglasses weren’t shading his eyes. “Talking me down, I mean.”

There was a lowering of the walls, and she knew Clint was showing her a part of him that few people ever saw - just how close to breaking he had been. "Anytime, Barton," she told him, leaning in just enough to brush her body against his. "Anytime."

 

Darcy couldn't remember ever having a day quite like this one. It was like they were literal kids in a candy shop, going from ride to ride, doing the best ones twice. They ate hot dogs and shared a basket of fries, washed them down with chocolate milkshakes before heading to the ferris wheel. Darcy watched Clint as they hung from the basket at the top of the wheel, 150 feet above the ground. It was fascinating, the way his eyes tracked everything, how comfortable he seemed to be just watching the world beneath him.

Even better was watching him yelling and crying out as the roller coaster reached its apex and then headed down toward the ground at breakneck speeds. "Never took you for a screamer," she teased him as they exited the car and headed for the nearest bench.

“That’s part of the fun, Lewis,” Clint told her with a smirk as they sat down. He stretched his arm along the back of the bench, his body angled slightly toward her and their knees touching. “I’d have guessed you were a screamer, before today,” he said with a grin. “But I won’t lie, I did enjoy the grabby hands.” He reached out to brush a stray piece of hair back off her cheek, and when his fingertips grazed against her skin Darcy smiled. 

“I aim to please,” Darcy retorted with a laugh. “Besides, not like I was going to turn down a golden opportunity like that.” She nudged her knee against his and was rewarded with his hand covering hers, giving it a warm squeeze. She liked this side of Clint, warm and playful, though she understood why he didn't share that with everyone. Someone in his position had to keep people at arm’s length, for both their sakes. She knew that flippant attitude he sometimes had masked a lot more that he held inside. 

From their bench they could see the beach, the water dancing over the waves as the sky began changing color from afternoon to evening. "Better get you home soon," he told her, giving her hand one last squeeze before he stood, pulling her up with him. "Thanks for this," Clint said as they began walking back down the boardwalk, toward the subway. 

“It was a good day,” Darcy agreed, glancing over at him with a smile. “You kept up with me pretty well, for an old guy,” she teased. She laced their fingers together, swinging their hands a little as they neared the station.

Clint gave her a look of mock outrage. “You’ve got a sassy mouth, you know that, Lewis?” 

Darcy laughed, looking back at him over her shoulder as she went through the turnstile. “You’re just now figuring that out?” She watched his face as he followed her, a little surprised at the way he was staring at her - like maybe he wanted to see how sassy her mouth really was. The train car filled pretty fast, and Darcy found a place to sit, Clint standing next to her. He was still watching her, both of them quiet, and it began to feel a little strange. "Cat got your tongue?" 

That got a grin out of him. "Just thinking," he said, reaching down to touch her hair gently. "Was a great day, Darcy." There were people around them, no privacy at all but right now, the way he looked at her made Darcy feel like they were the only two people on board. 

“Yeah, it really was,” she said at last. Darcy gave him a slow smile, and even though they were mostly quiet for the rest of the ride, it wasn’t awkward. Instead the silence was charged with an energy that had her stomach fluttering. 

The walk from their stop to the tower was short, and it wasn’t long before they were inside, getting off the elevator on her floor. “You want to come in?” Darcy asked as they approached her door. She heard the quiet click of the door unlocking, but she ignored it for a moment and turned to Clint. “We can have something to drink. You must be thirsty, after all that screaming.” Her lips quirked, and she saw the way his eyes lingered on her mouth. Darcy watched him for a moment, then leaned in, rising up on her toes as she brushed her lips against his. Soft and dry, just a gentle press against his mouth but it was enough to set the room spinning. 

Clint must have realized this, she thought, because his hand reached for her shoulder, as if he needed steadying himself. When he pulled back, she saw his eyes open up, blue and green and gold, and he was staring at her as if she didn't really exist. "I want to," he told her, his thumb brushing her cheek, "but I think I should go now. Back to my place."

“Oh.” Darcy bit her lip, leaning into that light touch. She didn’t want the day to be over, and for a moment she was quiet, trying to hide the hint of disappointment. They’d spent almost the entire day together, and it had been fantastic, she told herself. “I guess so,” she said at last, but before he could respond she touched her lips to his again, one more soft, sweet kiss before she drew back and leaned against the doorjamb. She wrapped her arms around herself, watching him. “‘Night, Clint.”

"Night, Darcy. I had a great time with you today," he told her, reaching out and touching her shoulder one more time before heading for the stairs, up to his apartment. She watched him for a moment before heading into her own apartment, sighing as the door closed behind her. She understood, sort of. They'd spent a lot of time together for one day, and judging from his reaction to the kisses, Darcy knew Clint felt it too, that spark between them. Better to go slow and let it happen in its own time. 

***  
SHIELD wasn't your typical workplace. Nor was it the ideal workplace if you wanted to keep a romance private, the majority of her colleagues working as spies for a living. 

Darcy learned quickly that catching a few minutes here or there with Clint was going to be tough, unless they went out of their way to make time for each other in the evening. Some days she'd spot Clint walking in the corridors, or see him working and training with the other agents, but even then, they were both working and didn't have time for smiles and kisses. For the most part, her cohort of trainees was kept apart from the other agents as they were sent through more and more rigorous training, and days went by without her seeing him, particularly if he was posted out of town or just busy doing 'strike team' things. 

To make matters worse, Clint wasn't fantastic at communication, be it texting or calling on the phone. Intellectually, Darcy knew this wasn't a personal affront, it was just Clint being Clint - and that knowledge made each unexpected text message from him, letting her know what he was doing or thinking about that much sweeter. 

_I hate Sitwell._

Stepping inside her apartment after a particularly long day, Darcy sighed to herself as she pictured Clint sitting in the back of an SUV, subjected to a handler that just didn't get him. Clint had confided to her over dinner the previous night that he was worried about being assigned to another handler, especially one that had been close to Phil. But Darcy knew that few people were closer to Phil Coulson than Clint Barton, and it was more than just a new handler that Clint was struggling with, but grief that he hadn't finished working through. Darcy had managed to take his mind off of it with some kisses, and when Clint had left her place he looked a lot happier than when he'd arrived, which she counted as success.

It was dark. Normally the lights kicked on when she stepped in the door, but this time there was only the dying light coming in from the windows casting long shadows through her apartment. "JARVIS, some light please?" she asked, blinking twice as the lights slowly came up, and the outline of someone sitting at her table came into view.

Somehow, Darcy wasn't surprised. "Guess I should have expected this," she murmured, dropping her purse and bag on the table as she approached Natasha Romanoff. "I'd say make yourself at home, but it looks like you've already done that." Darcy headed for the kitchen and grabbed a soft drink before settling into the chair next to Natasha, silently assessing her. "So... I assume this is where I get the talk?" 

Natasha watched her in silence for a few moments longer. At last, tired and thirsty, Darcy twisted the cap off her drink and lifted it to her mouth. Then she heard a deceptively soft voice. 

“What are you doing?” Natasha asked. She was still studying Darcy like she wasn’t sure whether she was a threat or not, and Darcy swallowed her mouthful of soda, coughing when it went down the wrong way. 

Sarcasm was probably not the wisest choice here, Darcy realized. “Not a whole lot, so far,” she managed at last. “Two dates, and a few texts. Lunch with you and Steve.” She waited a few moments, but when Natasha didn't answer, she added, "I'm not going to hurt him."

"You won't mean to, not at first," Natasha began, her voice still low but warmer than Darcy expected. "Clint Barton is difficult. In many ways, he's just a big kid who doesn't want to grow up. Eventually that will get old, and you will leave. There is no way this ends without him being hurt."

Darcy put the soda down and shifted to face Natasha. “...Or maybe it won’t get old, since in a lot of ways, I’m a big kid, too. And I already figured out the part where he’s difficult, but... it doesn’t bother me. I’m learning to read him.” She tilted her head, staring at the other woman. “I’m going to do my best not to hurt him, because I really like him. A lot. I don’t know what you think I’m doing here, but I’m not using Clint, or playing with him. Not at all.” 

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Natasha replied. She paused. “He has not had an easy life. Some things, you undoubtedly know,” she continued, and then she gave Darcy a look. “Others, he holds close.”

"But you know them all, his secrets. Is that what you're telling me?" Darcy asked, still not sure why Natasha felt the need to warn her off Clint like this. 

Natasha just shrugged. "We've been together for a long time. I've seen him at his best and at his worst, as he's seen me. We have no secrets from each other." She glanced around Darcy's apartment, as if she could gain some information from the contents of her possessions. "You found him at a particularly low point in his life. What happened with Loki, losing Coulson..." Tapping her fingers on the table, Natasha exhaled. "You brought him out of his funk, for which I am grateful. Thank you. But don't think it will last." Standing, Natasha tilted her head at Darcy, looking at her curiously. "I don't mean to be unkind. I just know Clint." 

Darcy went very still. “When you say you have no secrets...” she began slowly. She stood up, too, letting Natasha look her fill. “You were together, weren’t you? Romantically, I mean.” 

Natasha snorted softly at that comment. "Romance... that word has no place in our lives, a naivete that neither of us has anymore. Nothing about Clint and I was ever romantic." That didn't necessarily sound like they hadn't been involved, but Darcy decided to ignore this for now, before it made her upset.

Darcy still wasn’t entirely sure what this little visit was all about, but she was starting to get an idea, and she didn’t like the way she was being dismissed. “Why are you so sure it’s not going to last?”

She shook her head, walking a couple of steps away. Then she turned back to Natasha. “I’d like to think I’m getting to know him, too. Look...” Darcy paused, choosing her next words carefully. “I appreciate your concern, I do. You obviously care about Clint. I’m glad. But I’m not going to be scared off. Not by him, because believe me, he tried at first. And not by you,” she added, her voice impassive. “So I think we’re done here.” 

If Natasha had an answer to Darcy's last question, she didn't offer it up. "I will see you tomorrow, Agent Lewis," she said, seeing herself out. Watching as the other woman closed the door behind her, Darcy sighed, all the tension rolling off her shoulders. In a way, it felt like some sort of test - and right now, Darcy wasn't sure if she had passed or failed.


	3. Chapter 3

Darcy was sitting at her desk when Clint showed up. It was mid-morning, so it was a little bit of a surprise. “Hey,” she said. “What’s going on?” She hadn’t expected to see him today; he’d mentioned something about a mission that could go at any time. 

“Not a lot,” he said, but Clint’s smile as he leaned against the corner of her desk was easy, something in his eyes that was almost playful. “Just your first surveillance mission.”

“Really?” Darcy gaped at him, for once at a loss for words. “I get to go with you?” She didn’t even know what the mission was, other than to watch something (obviously), but she liked the idea of working with him.

"I might have pulled some strings," Clint grinned, pretending to buff his nails. "Not that I'd ever recommend working with someone you're dating, and I'd never take you on anything that was dangerous." Darcy narrowed her eyes at him at that comment, but Clint kept talking. "But this is mostly glorified babysitting, and I thought you were prettier than Agent Wilkos."

Glancing up at him, she looked around to see if anyone could hear them, but for the moment, they were alone, the surrounding cubicles thankfully empty. "Dating, is that what we're doing now?"

"I think so," Clint smirked. "I mean, I Googled it, and that's what the internet called it." There was a hint of a question in his eyes, though, some of that insecurity that Darcy suspected went pretty deep. "Unless of course you're just stalking me, that's also a possibility." His phone beeped, and she watched as he read a message silently to himself. "Meet you in the garage in an hour?" he asked, standing.

"I'll be there," Darcy answered, filing in her head that comment about not taking her on dangerous assignments. Clint was going to get her opinion on that, whether he liked it or not.

***  
“No, really, it doesn’t make a difference.”

“Of course it does, Darce. It’s called an infield fly for a reason. The shortstop was all the way out in left field when he caught the ball.” Clint gave her a skeptical look.

“I’m serious, it doesn’t matter. The rule doesn’t say anything about the trajectory of the ball or where it’s caught or anything,” Darcy replied as they navigated the perpetually congested streets. Clint’s attention was on the traffic, but he glanced over at her with a smirk.

“Come on,” he scoffed.

“Do I need to Google it for you? Seriously? This lack of trust is disappointing, Barton,” she retorted, one eyebrow raised. “The infield fly rule is a judgment call. The umpire calls it if he believes an infielder can catch the ball with ordinary effort.”

“So you’re saying it was a good call?” Clint asked.

Darcy snorted. “No, it was a shitty call. Ordinary effort, with fifty thousand fans going nuts? No way could he have heard the outfielders calling him off, and they were. You could see they were yelling on the replay. And besides that, the point of the rule is to prevent the deception of base runners. Not likely he was planning that, as far out as he was. _And_ the ump delayed making the call. The rule says an infield fly situation has to be called immediately.”

Clint eased the SUV into a space on the street and cut the engine. Then he turned to look at her and reached out, tugging a stray curl that had fallen down over her shoulder. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

She blinked, then smiled, big and bright. “I try.” Clint laughed. 

“Come on, out of the car. Dawes and Chase are waiting for us to relieve them.”

***  
"You know, I had no idea that Queens has a Little Korea of it's own." Darcy had often thought that surveillance assignments were going to be boring, but in a populated area like this, she caught herself drifting off and not paying attention to the busy storefronts across from the building they were holed up in. It was an old brick multi-story building, like so many of the others in the area, with renovations half done. The scaffolding and other construction equipment were still in place, but in their corner near the front there was an old, battered wooden desk against the wall, and a couple of chairs near the window. "So, how much longer we watching this place?" 

"Until someone gets into that car over there," Clint said, eyes tracking the building across from them. "Our relief'll be here tonight at eleven," he told her as he continued watching. "I can get Tasha to bring us some food, if you're hungry." 

“That’s okay,” Darcy told him hastily. She still hadn’t brought up that visit Natasha had paid her, and she wasn’t entirely sure how. “I can wait until we’re done. Unless you want something?” She peered out the window, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. “So... how do you normally pass the time on an assignment like this?” she asked, curious as she watched Clint staring outside through a pair of standard SHIELD binoculars.

"Depends," was his answer. When she didn't respond to that, he turned, looking at her and chuckling. "If I don't like my partner, I just usually sit here and watch the mark. Turn off the old hearing aid, so I don't have to listen to them," he added with a smirk. "When I'm really bored, I make up stories about the people walking by on the street. On the other hand," he shrugged as he turned back to the building, "if we're friends or know each other, just small talk. Tasha and I practice languages that we're learning, or set up covers for future missions." 

"You two work really well together," Darcy said, keeping her tone light as she picked up the extra set of binoculars from the window ledge. 

"Been together a long time. That sort of familiarity is key." Clint got quiet for a moment as he watched someone leave the shop across the street, then shook his head. "A lot of times," he continued, "it's the little things that can make or break an undercover mission. Our casual banter can be useful, putting the marks at ease, making them think we're just a normal couple." Quickly glancing over at Darcy, he chuckled. "Part of why I asked for you today. If we need to follow someone, a man and a woman holding hands don't look too out of place. We’d blend right in." Then he laughed, "Well, I blend right in. You look amazing, even in that."

She looked down at her dark blue top and gray pants. She’d shrugged out of her cardigan and tied it around her waist, and the toes of her boots were scuffed. “You’re either easy to please,” Darcy told him with a smirk, “or you just threw some shade at my outfit.” But she laughed. “So I’m here in case you need to hold my hand on the clock. Got it.”

“Not just because of that,” he protested, but he was grinning as he looked down at the street. “I thought you’d like getting out of the office, getting some real experience. Though I admit, the idea of spending a few hours with you was on my mind, too. We’ve both been busy.” 

“You’re such a romantic,” Darcy told him, her tone dry, but she smiled. “You could’ve just said you wanted to get me alone, you know.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Clint asked. He glanced away from the window for a second, and even though she was watching through her own binoculars she could feel him looking at her. "Keep watching the window," she heard Clint say as his chair scooted closer toward hers. 

Then she felt him, his hands moving her hair off of her shoulder, his lips pressed against her throat. "That feels good," she sighed, trying hard to pay attention to her job, but Clint seemed to be doing his best to distract her. "Bet you do this with all your partners, pass the time..."

Clint paused before nosing her cheek. "Okay, spit it out, Lewis. What do you really want to know about?" he asked, tugging at a strand of her hair. 

She looked over at him, staring back at her earnestly. "You and Natasha... what was that all about?" she asked, her voice low. "I'm just curious what happened there." Part of her hated asking this, but after that conversation with Natasha, Darcy wanted to know Clint's side of the story.

Clint's face sort of scrunched up as the thought about it. "Tasha and I have a lot of history. We've saved each other's asses more times than I can even remember now. She's my partner," he added, as if that was the word that he liked best. 

"She's been more to you than that," Darcy's finger traced along Clint's cheek. 

"She has been," Clint agreed. "But ultimately, we're different people with different needs. It didn't work out, Lewis, but we're still a great team. That hasn't changed, even if we don't want to be together in that way." 

"You still care about her."

"Yep," Clint said, nodding as he watched Darcy carefully. "Always will, she's very important to me. And then there's you." Leaning in, Clint's hand rested against the back of her neck, pulling her close and kissing her tenderly, then once more, deeper and slower. "This is why you can't work with people you're seeing," he murmured, smiling against her lips before pulling back. "Let's hope he didn't pop out while I was doing that, or we're gonna get yelled at."

“Hmmm,” Darcy said, leaning forward a little, following as he pulled back. But he was right, they had a job to do, and she sighed again and turned back to the window. The car hadn’t budged, and she checked the opposite window. “Nope, he’s still there.” Her voice sounded low and soft even to her own ears, and she felt a smile tugging at her lips. 

“Good,” Clint said. His hand was still on the back of her neck, and Darcy shivered at the feel of his callused fingers against her skin. 

“You’re distracting,” she informed him. Then she took a slow breath. “Okay, so... other ways to pass the time. Quid pro quo, Barton. You never did explain where that key lime pie went the other night." 

"Can't help it, I'm a growing boy," he told her, smirking.

"Lame. That was for Steve, poor baby's never had it before.” Darcy glanced over, then returned her attention to their subject. “Got anything for me?” 

Clint leaned back into his chair, eyeing her thoughtfully before turning his own eyes back to the building. "Let me think a minute, I can ask you anything..." Chuckling, he finally came up with something. "Are there any grad students out there who are gonna come after me, try and take me down for stealing you away from them?" 

“Grad students? I don’t know. Maybe a couple, but I’m pretty sure you can take them out with no problem. They were kind of the skinny, bookish type.” Darcy shrugged. She reached for her bottle of water and took a drink without looking away. “There was a drummer. He was kind of hot-headed, but once I figured out he was a dick it was over. Didn’t take long.” 

Clint straightened in his chair. “Do I need to track him down?” His voice had an edge to it that made Darcy blink. 

“Not worth it. We went out a couple of times, I found out he was an ass. I dropped him.” Darcy smiled just a little. “But thanks for the offer.” 

"Anytime," Clint told her. "So, your turn."

Darcy thought about it a moment. There were so many things she wanted to know about this man, especially after that comment of Natasha's, all the things about him that she didn't know. But she decided to stick with work for now. "Worst mission ever."

"This one of course," he snorted, then broke out into laughter when Darcy hit him on the shoulder. "Oh, I dunno, let me think." Standing, he walked over to the table in the room, reaching into the small cooler and pulling out a couple soft drinks. He put one on the ground in front of Darcy, and opened up one for himself. "Well, there was this one time I got stuck working in a law office, supposed to be in and out, a week at most. Ended up there nearly three months. Had to go home each night and actually teach myself environmental law so I didn't look completely out of place. Those people... I don't think I could ever live that kind of life."

"What do you mean?" Darcy asked, taking a sip of her drink and standing as he took over watching the building. 

"They were crooks. It's like - I've lived with criminals, you know?" Clint exhaled loudly as he lifted the binoculars to his eyes. "I'm no angel. I've robbed and stolen when I had to, I've killed for my country, and now I work for spies. But those people, they have no honor, none whatsoever. It was all about the money and to hell with anyone that got in their way."

Darcy understood the difference, and she let her hand rest on his shoulder, giving him a squeeze as she stood behind him. “Some people don’t care, I guess. They don’t have a conscience to tell them what’s right or wrong, or they do and they just ignore it. I don’t know.”

“I don’t know, either,” Clint agreed. He reached up to cover her hand with his, just for a moment. Darcy put her soda back down and started rubbing his shoulders with both hands, and when he sighed and leaned back into her touch she smiled. 

“I think it’s your turn to ask again,” she told him, dropping a kiss on top of his head.

Clint pretended to think really hard. "Time to get serious," he said, but the smile on his face belied that statement. "Okay, how about this classic. Strangest place you've ever- been intimate with someone."

Darcy’s hands went still for a moment, and she stared at the back of his head before resuming her light, easy strokes. “Uh, well, I guess that depends on your definition of ‘intimate,’” she hedged. “Are we talking just making out, or more than that?”

He gave her a curious look. "Let's say a little more than just making out." 

“Um, I gave my first real boyfriend a blowjob in the treehouse in his backyard.” She inhaled slowly, wishing they could have this conversation another time. Later, when they were back at the tower, and not working, because she’d thought about how to tell Clint she was a virgin a million times, and none of them had involved them being on the job. But she wasn’t going to lie to Clint, either, and putting him off would just make him more curious. “I haven’t really done a whole lot,” she admitted. 

Clint turned his head, taking her hand and catching her eye. "So, when you say you haven't done a lot, do you mean...you haven't?" he asked, a furrow forming between his brows as he spoke.

Darcy looked back at him, and she reached out to smooth her hand over his brow. “No, I haven’t.” She bit her lip and watched him, trying to figure out what that look meant. “That gonna be a problem?”

"No, no," he told her, reaching up and cupping her cheek with his hand. "It's just - a little surprised, that's all. You're just so beautiful, Darcy, I don't know what I'm saying, so I'm gonna stop talking," he said, looking awkward. 

"I don't want this to make you uncomfortable," she told him, covering his hand on her face with her own. "C'mon, you got questions, its okay. Ask."

Clint rubbed his neck, that worried look still present in his eyes. "Is it, I mean, has it just never happened yet, or do you not want to?" It was clear this conversation was as difficult for him as it was for her.

“Just never happened,” Darcy said with a shrug. “It’s not that I don’t want to, or that I’m ‘saving myself’ or anything like that,” she told him. Her stomach was twisting in knots, and Darcy felt her face getting warm. She didn’t know what to say to make him stop worrying. “I just... want it to be with someone I care about a lot, and I never really felt that close to anyone before. Or I did, but they didn’t feel that way about me. Until now.”

“Darce...” Clint reached out, his thumb rubbing against her cheekbone. He searched her face, his gaze serious and a little wary. “Are you trying to say you feel that way about me?”

Darcy looked down at him, her hair falling against the side of her face. She took a deep breath, then nodded, a hint of a smile on her face. “Yeah, I do.” But they were in an empty building in Koreatown, and they had a job to do. “This is not where or how I wanted to tell you this,” she told him, biting her lip. “It’s really bad timing, I know that, and we really need to focus on work. But I didn’t want to--” She fell quiet as his hand moved, his thumb gliding over her mouth, tracing the outline of her lips. 

He was smiling, just a little, and her breath caught. “It’s okay,” Clint told her. He looked at her for a moment longer, his expression almost shy, like that moment when he’d agreed to go out with her in the first place. “...But you’re right. We need to focus, for now.” Leaning in, Clint gave her a little kiss then lifted his binoculars, training his eyes on the building across the street. 

Darcy reached out and rubbed the back of his neck. “What about you?” she asked. “Same question.” 

Clint didn't answer right away, as if he were thinking about his answer. "Afghanistan," he finally said, chuckling a little. "Camp Victory. Inside a tank," he added at the end, looking a little embarrassed. "I don't even know," he laughed to himself. 

“Inside a tank,” Darcy repeated, lifting her brows. “That sounds kind of cramped,” she told him, deadpan. But when he laughed she grinned, scratching the back of his head as she glanced out the window. There was no sign of movement.

Darcy’s gaze settled on Clint again. What was it about this man, what was different about him? She had thought about that often during the last week when they were together, how good it felt when he put his arm around her, or how he'd take her hand in his when they were out in public. There was something sweet and old-fashioned in how he treated her, gentle touches that guys her age just didn't understand. 

Sex... it seemed like such a game. Darcy was aware of the way she looked, and her effect on men since she started developing. There were always guys hanging around, quite vocal in what they wanted to do with her, what they wanted to do to her - as if that would turn her on, excite her. Maybe that's why she'd never been in a hurry to actually have sex until it felt right. She wasn't looking for the perfect man, but she did believe in the perfect moment, and she knew that she'd feel it when the time came.

Clint. He felt right. She knew it had been her body that first caught his eye back in New Mexico, but right now what they had was more than just physical attraction. Darcy liked Clint, and she knew in her heart that he cared about her too. Having that conversation scared her more than she wanted to admit, because inside there was a tiny part of her that worried what his reaction would be, if he'd laugh at her, or get demanding, wanting more than she was prepared to give. 

But he didn't. Clint told her it was okay, and kissed her, then got back to work. Darcy ran her fingers along the short hairs on the back of his neck, and smiled as he laughed, ticklish, but never taking his eyes off the building. Her worries began melting away as he reached out for her hand, and she kissed the top of his head, settling into her chair next to him, and focused on her target.


	4. Chapter 4

Darcy yawned and snuggled into the warm throw blanket. It was past midnight, but she was curled on the sofa watching a Hitchcock marathon, her phone resting on the edge of the cushion next to her head. She’d been all ready for bed when the text had come. Just four words, but she’d felt relief flow through her when she read them, anxiety she’d lived with for days finally dissipating. 

_I’m ok. Headed home._

Clint had been sent out a little more than a week before. The night after their surveillance shift, their target had made his move, setting the stage for what was supposed to be a quick three- or four-day assignment. When five days had gone by with no word, Darcy’s concern had escalated to full-blown worry. She had told herself that Natasha was with him, and that they would look out for each other. It didn’t stop her from worrying, though.

He was heading home. But that didn't tell her if he was getting on a plane or getting in a car, and she wasn't sure when he'd get back to New York. Picking up the plate and cocoa mug from the living room table, she dropped them off in the kitchen sink before heading to her room, pulling back the covers and falling into bed. Heading home, that's all that mattered.

The knock at the door an hour later surprised her, but as soon as Darcy heard it she knew who it was. Flying to the front room, she opened the door without even looking through the peephole and threw her arms around Clint, who dropped his bags and hugged her tight. "Miss me, Lewis?" he murmured into her hair.

"Just a little," she answered, turning her head and finding his mouth, kissing him soft. "Come inside?" she asked, cradling his face with one of her hands. She could see a long scratch on the right side of his cheek. "Did you get checked out by Medical?" she asked, following him inside her apartment. 

Clint dropped his bags off on the floor, sighing heavily as he leaned against her. "Snuck out during the debrief," he told her. "Didn't want to spend the night in the infirmary." He looked more tired than anything, and Darcy knew that what he needed was rest. 

And maybe a Band-Aid. "Go sit on my bed," she told him, "and let me clean up that scrape, okay?" She tugged him toward her room and left him sitting down while she found a washcloth and some antibiotic ointment. But when Darcy returned to her room, she found Clint sprawled out, eyes closed. _Clint._

Darcy crawled up next to him, pressing the washcloth against his temple, cleaning up the dried blood that was sticking to his hair. "What trouble have you been getting into, honey?" she asked him quietly, rubbing gently until his face was clean. She applied the ointment carefully, then dropped it on the night table, and turned to see him looking up at her.

“It’s just a scratch,” Clint murmured, his voice thick with exhaustion. He reached up, his fingers brushing against her hair. “Guy had lousy aim.”

She smoothed her hand over his hair and leaned down to brush her lips over his forehead. “I’m glad.” Darcy pulled back and sat next to him, one hand resting on his chest. “Let’s get you comfortable,” she murmured, crawling down to unlace his boots. She tugged one off and dropped it at the foot of the bed, then reached for the other. A quick glance up showed Clint watching her, his eyelids heavy.

Darcy dropped his other boot with its mate and shifted back up to his side. He had taken off his vest before he arrived, but was still in the snug black shirt he wore beneath it. She plucked at the bottom of the shirt, pulling it up. “Can you lift your arms for me?” she asked, pushing the shirt up and off as carefully as possible. 

Clint helped, lifting up enough to get the shirt over his head and she could see the bruises, dark and purple all down his side. Then he reached for Darcy and tugged her gently down against him, one hand tangling in her hair. She snuggled against him, one arm sliding across his chest, and felt Clint turn his head. He buried his nose in her hair, and Darcy smiled. "Gotta warn you," he yawned drowsily, "there's a chance Tasha's gonna break in here lookin' for me."

She couldn't help the grin on her face as she looked up at him. "Barton, what am I gonna do with you?" she asked, her fingers tracing along the side of his muscular chest. Hesitating, she wondered if she should mention Natasha’s previous visit. "Did she tell you she came to see me already?"

Clint cracked an eye at that comment. "I should be surprised, but I'm not." He turned his body into her, so he could see her face. "She try and scare you off?" he asked, curious. 

Darcy slid her hand over his side. “Sort of,” she began, then paused. That conversation with Natasha seemed so long ago, but aside from feeling the other woman’s watchful gaze now and then when they all happened to be together, she’d been too busy to give it much more thought. “I think she was just looking out for you,” Darcy told him. Her lips curved into a crooked smile. “She doesn’t want you to get hurt.” 

He reached up and traced a finger down over her nose, a bemused expression on his face. “Not everyone would be so understanding,” Clint observed. He leaned in and kissed the tip of her nose. 

"You've never made me feel like I have to worry," she answered him, laying her head back down on his chest. "It says a lot about you, Clint, that you've got someone who cares about you like that. It sort of makes me want to live up to that expectation." She felt his chest rising and falling evenly, and when Darcy glanced back up, she saw Clint's eyes were closed again. _Sleep well, baby,_ she thought to herself, but it came hard for her. There were too many feelings inside, like joy bubbling to the surface. Clint had come to see her first, and now he was in her arms, sleeping in her bed. It was almost overwhelming, this need to take care of him, to protect him as he slept.

This could be the night. Darcy imagined what it would be like, pulling off her nightgown and waking him up slowly with her tongue tracing all along his body. The way his eyes would watch her as she pulled down his pants and took him in her mouth, then climbed up his body and rode him slowly. 

Darcy wanted to... but then Clint made a soft grunting noise in his sleep and she just smiled at him, holding him closer. Maybe in the morning, she told herself as she pulled the covers up and over both of them. There was a condom somewhere in her bathroom, she thought, a leftover from some silly party game. Closing her eyes, she fantasized about what it would be like...

 

_BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP-_ Her eyes snapped open at the shrill sound. She felt him shift, reaching in and pulling out his phone. He turned off the alarm before dropping it back over the side of the bed, sighing deeply.

“What is it?” Darcy asked groggily, half-worried he was going to have to turn right back around and head out again. She turned over and shifted up onto one elbow, her other hand stroking his chest. “...Clint?”

“It’s Tasha,” he said. “She’s looking for me, since I kind of skipped out before I could be ordered to Medical.” He shifted onto his side, reaching for Darcy, and she snuggled back into his arms. 

“But you’re here,” Darcy said, her fingers stroking his cheek. “And you’re not that hurt. Are you?” He was a little scraped up, and desperately needed some more rest, from the look of it, but Clint looked otherwise healthy. She couldn’t quite keep the confused note out of her voice. Clint reached up and caught her hand, holding it against his face. 

“Nothing a few hours’ sleep won’t cure. It’s...” Clint sighed. “Tasha and I... we have this thing where we check in with each other after missions.” He gave her a look. “We’re partners. We sort of take stock of everything that happened, talk about what went wrong, make sure we’re okay.”

“And you skipped out on that last night. Not just on Medical.” Darcy searched his face. “Is that it?” She didn't need him to answer - the sheepish look on his face answered the question for her. "You realize this is not going to help me in my quest to make her like me."

"She isn't gonna blame you, sweetheart," Clint told her, but she couldn't help notice that he swung his legs off the bed, taking a deep breath and stretching his arms over his head. "I better go find her, see if we need to finish anything to close out the file." Reaching over, Clint touched her hair. "Thank you for letting me crash here, baby." 

Darcy couldn't help but feel a little disappointed at how fast he needed to leave, but she understood. In the back of her head, a little voice added that it probably wouldn't ever get better. "Promise me you'll swing by Medical at some point today, okay?" 

Clint finished pulling his boots on and turned toward Darcy. The look on his face was hard to read in the early morning light, but she felt him bend down and kiss the top of her hair, then her cheek, and then her mouth. "Promise," he murmured, then kissed her again. "I'll call you later, okay?" he said, and then he was gone, just as fast as he'd shown up the night before. 

Darcy flopped back onto the bed with a frustrated sigh. She’d wanted to wake up before him, tease him awake with kisses. She had wanted that badly, but she hadn’t counted on his phone waking them up early. Or on him rushing out so quickly after they’d spent the night together for the first time. Maybe it was different for him, that little voice suggested.

But... no. Darcy remembered him tangling his fingers into her hair as they lay there the night before. And this morning, in that confused, half-awake moment before he’d pulled away to turn off his alarm Clint had been wrapped around her, his body spooned snugly against hers. She might not have much experience, but it certainly hadn’t felt like he’d wanted to be anywhere else.

She rolled over and pulled the pillow-- _his_ pillow--against her. It smelled like him, and Darcy snuggled it close, then groaned. Wallowing in bed wasn’t going to do her any good, she decided. Maybe Jane could meet her for brunch. It wasn’t how she’d hoped to spend her Saturday morning, but Darcy could use some advice.

 

They agreed to meet in the common living area at eleven. Darcy showered and dressed early, mostly out of a need to do something besides think about what happened that morning. Intellectually, she knew she was taking it too personally, Clint's quick departure. This is what came with dating a secret agent. But that didn't mean it didn't hurt, just a little. 

She arrived a few minutes early, before Jane, and walked over to the large floor-to-ceiling windows to take a peek outside. Blue skies, fluffy white clouds - it was a perfect day. Darcy pulled out her compact, checking her makeup in the small mirror. "Chin up, Lewis," she told herself. "No need to bring everyone else down."

"Is something wrong?" 

Darcy dropped her compact, surprised. She hadn't seen Natasha sitting quietly on the sofa, half in shadows. "Oh hey. Didn't see you there. Sorry if I interrupted anything." 

"You didn't." Natasha stood, and Darcy saw a small tablet slip into her pocket. "Just reading." If Darcy hadn't known that Natasha spent the last week trekking with Clint through Cartagena, she wouldn't have guessed it. She was poised and put together in a way that Darcy could never be. "You appear distressed."

Darcy shook her head. "Just hungry," she explained. "I'm meeting Jane for brunch." At that moment, the elevator opened and Jane wandered out, looking around. "Over here," Darcy called out. 

Jane had changed out of her lab coat, but judging from her pulled back hair and the pencil still tucked behind her ear, Darcy suspected she'd spent some time upstairs in her labs. "Agent Romanoff," Jane called out as she approached the women. Hugging Darcy, Jane turned to Natasha. "Are you joining us this morning?"

Five minutes later, the three of them were in the back of a Bentley, Happy chattering away about the last time he had such beautiful women in his car. "Russian Tea Room," Natasha told him, ignoring the comments, but she gave him a soft smile that looked genuine. "You've never eaten there?" she asked the women, an uncertain look on her face, as if she couldn't imagine something so terrible. 

"Can't say that I have," Darcy answered, unsure when her plans for pouring her heart out to Jane flew out the window. "Is it all Russian food?" 

“I haven’t, either,” Jane said. “It’s pretty famous, though, isn’t it?”

“It is a New York tradition,” Natasha said, inclining her head at Jane. She looked over at Darcy. “There are some Russian--or Russian-inspired--things on the menu, but they have an excellent brunch, too.” She looked far away for a moment, as though she was lost in memory. “The High Tea is also very good, but it’s early for that.”

“Sounds great,” Jane replied. She settled back into the comfortable leather seat. “It’s too gorgeous outside to be cooped up in the lab all day. I’m glad you suggested brunch, Darce. We do need to catch up. You’re so busy with training and everything, I hardly see you, and you sounded kind of down on the phone. Is everything okay?” 

Darcy couldn’t help smiling at that, even though it felt a little half-hearted. “Well, getting you out of the lab and feeding you is an ongoing mission of mine,” she teased. “That’s not going to change any time soon. And besides, you’re right. We haven’t talked in forever.” She shrugged, glancing across at Natasha and then back at Jane. “Nothing major. I just wanted some advice.”

The ride was fairly short, and before Jane could answer they were pulling up at the curb outside the restaurant. Natasha, Darcy, and Jane climbed out of the car after promising to call Happy when they were ready to be picked up and walked inside. 

“Rushman,” Natasha told the maître d’ as they entered, and they were whisked to a corner table. 

Darcy glanced at Jane, eyebrows raised, and looked around at the lush red upholstery and the gilt trimmings everywhere as they slid into the U-shaped booth. “This is gorgeous,” she admitted after a server had come by to fill their water glasses. She shot a curious glance at Natasha. “Rushman?” she asked. 

Natasha shrugged and took a delicate sip of water. “I worked as Tony’s personal assistant for a while. The name still opens doors, I suppose.” 

Of course it did. Darcy picked up the menu and studied it, curious to see what they had in store for themselves, and was impressed despite her mood. “Wow. You weren’t kidding. This all sounds pretty amazing,” she said. She hadn’t been lying earlier about being hungry, either.

When they had all given their orders and had been served coffee and a basket of pastries, Jane gave Darcy a worried look. “Are you sure you’re all right, Darce?” she asked, stirring cream and sugar into her coffee. “You said you needed to talk.”

Hesitating, Darcy took another sip from her mug. Natasha spotted that look, and made a knowing sound. "Barton? What did he do this time?"

She hadn't expected Natasha to sound quite so supportive. "Well," she began, looking at Jane then Natasha, "yeah, he kind of hurt my feelings. The thing is, I don't think he even realizes what he did, so maybe I shouldn't be hurt." Reaching for one of the scones, she tore a piece off and popped it into her mouth. "But I am."

"Darcy," Jane reached over and covered her hand. "What happened?"

Now she felt silly, seeing the worried expressions on their faces. "He came over last night, when you guys got back from your trip. It was late, like two in the morning, so I just cleaned up his cut and we went to bed. It was the first time he'd ever stayed over," she added shyly, feeling her skin pinking up. "Anyway, his alarm went off this morning pretty early, and..."

"He just got up and left." Natasha shook her head, throwing her napkin down on the table in disgust. " _тот идиот_ ," she muttered, then waved the waiter back to their table. "Mimosas," she told him, adding, "I find these conversations flow smoother with some champagne. I'd like to tell you he knows better, but..." she shrugged again.

"Men," Jane agreed. "Now by and large I don't approve of stereotyping people, lumping groups together, but ugh, sometimes they can just be so..." Jane's hands made little fists. "I think they've been hit in the head once too many times."

“So he’s done it before.” Darcy lifted her mug for a sip of the steaming coffee, trying to ignore the deepening flush in her cheeks. “That’s something, I guess. I thought it might be me, just overreacting. Or... that it had to do with something I told him before you two left.” She gave Jane a look, aware that she could probably guess what that had been. They’d had so many long, rambling conversations both back in New Mexico and, less often, here, and they knew most of each other’s secrets by now. 

But Natasha didn’t know, unless Clint had said something. Darcy didn’t believe he would have. “The thing is, we haven’t actually slept together yet,” she explained. “I kind of had ideas for this morning, and then he was awake and gone in minutes. Seconds, maybe.”

Jane caught on quickly, and she looked up from her croissant. “Ohh, Darce...” She scooted closer in the booth. “You mean he just left like that, even after you told him you’ve never...” Jane stopped mid-sentence, but Darcy felt her face grow even warmer. 

“Oh,” Natasha said, looking between the two women, understanding dawning on her normally unreadable face. Her gaze settled on Darcy, shrewd and surprisingly sympathetic, but there was something else there, a look that suggested she had solved a puzzle. “I can’t say that I knew about this,” she began, and Darcy had the idea that she was choosing her words with care. “But... Clint has told me a little about you,” she admitted. She sipped her coffee, then looked down at her hands, wrapped around the mug. “He cares a great deal for you, Darcy. I don’t think his rushing off this morning has anything to do with what you told him.” 

The look Natasha gave her next could only be described as conspiratorial. “He’s not always good with women.” Her brow arched, just a fraction of an inch. "And by trying not to further irritate me, he upset you. I apologize for that." 

The food arrived, and everyone quieted down for a moment. Finally, Jane broke the silence. "Why were you angry at him?" she asked Natasha. 

"Barton and I have a routine, a procedure for working together. People in our line of business live and die by procedures, it keeps us stable, running smooth. Typically, after missions, especially difficult ones, we debrief together alone, away from SHIELD. Check each other out for injuries that we didn't want Medical to know about, go over things that went wrong, or comment on what went right. It's important, in those first hours, while everything is fresh." Natasha paused, taking another sip of her coffee, her mouth making a tight line. "But Clint skipped out on me. On everyone, really. It didn't take Sitwell too long to notice he'd left. The man's not an idiot, no matter what Clint says." Natasha looked down at her watch, "And I guarantee you Fury knows by now as well." 

Darcy felt her stomach drop. "That's my fault," she began, but Natasha interrupted her, pointing her fork at her as she spoke. 

"You need to understand, I'm not angry at you. I'm not even angry at him," Natasha said. "I knew where he went and why he was going. The last two days all he's done is look at his watch. But - it was not communicated to me. All he needed to do was talk to me about this, to tell me that we were not going to meet. It's about respect and consideration," Natasha added, "and my partner fails at this. A life spent on his own." She shrugged. "I'd like to say it's gotten better but..." Natasha gave Darcy a pointed look, then tucked into her plate.

It was more or less the same conclusion Darcy had already reached, but somehow it made her feel better, hearing it from someone else. “I’m not angry at him, either. Or at you,” she said to Natasha. “He said as much this morning, that he’d skipped out on you. He did _not_ tell me he’d skipped debriefing entirely, though.” Darcy shook her head. Debriefing immediately after a mission was mandatory, even she knew that. You had to have a damn good reason not to, and for SHIELD that usually meant being unconscious or dead. 

“It sounds like he was a little thoughtless. Okay, maybe a lot thoughtless,” Jane amended when she saw Natasha’s eyebrow go up. “And this morning, Darce, I guess... maybe the message from Natasha reminded him that he was probably in more hot water than just skipping out on his partner,” Jane speculated, waving her fork for emphasis.

“So you think I am overreacting?” Darcy asked. “I mean, I suppose on one hand, I can be happy that he wanted to see me that badly. And don’t get me wrong, that part felt good, knowing he’d come to me as soon as he could get away.” Barring the fact that he’d skipped a few steps to get there, she realized. That knowledge still made her feel guilty. “But this morning, he was just gone so fast, I was disappointed. And over-thinking it, probably,” she confessed. Here was the sticky part. Darcy generally had a pretty good opinion of herself, but this was enough to make any girl feel a little uncertain, she thought. 

“I kind of wondered what was wrong, you know.” She took a deep breath. “I mean, I’m not someone with confidence issues or hang-ups about my body or whatever, but I think I need to do something to... I don’t know, get his attention.”

Natasha snorted. "Darcy, you still don't quite get it. Right now, he's the one with the confidence issues. Clint's scared about all this." Giving both of them another look, Natasha took another bite. "You haven't asked for my advice, but in the interest of not having any more fuck-ups like this morning, I'm going to offer it anyway. Be there for him. You don't have to go out of your way to get his attention, you've got it. What he's expecting is that one day he'll come back from a mission and you'll be with someone else, tired of waiting for him."

"I wouldn't do that," Darcy began, but Natasha stopped her. 

"And that's what everyone says. No one intends on getting bored, but experience has taught us that relationships don't work, at least not for people like us." Popping one last bite of caviar and toast into her mouth, she added, "That's what you have to deal with. That mindset, that's what he's worried about."

It was a lot to think about. Darcy let the matter rest, for now. "I didn't even get a chance to ask how the mission went." Picking up her own fork, she asked, "Everything go smoothly? I mean, I'm not sure how much you can talk about..." 

Natasha's eyes cut across the room, so subtle it looked like blinking. "We got our guy, or what we thought was our guy. But we determined that our original target was merely a pawn, so we needed to find the brains behind the operation. In this case, a pair of sisters with a taste for the finer things in life. SHIELD is now tracking their locations, so the next time they pop up we'll be ready."

"I didn't think SHIELD sent you guys out for things like mere theft." Jane asked, curious. Darcy knew that Jane still had significant reservations about SHIELD, though she had at least softened her objections to Darcy's career choice. 

"The theft wasn't their initial concern, it was the man behind it. We had suspected it was a former associate of ours, who we used in the past. Someone who worked in our psi department." 

Jane made an affirmative noise. "But it wasn't."

"Nope," Natasha said flatly. "Turned out to be ordinary theft, as you suspected. But that took an extra couple days to determine. Couldn't leave that stone unturned, never know what or who will turn up." Natasha went quiet a moment, then asked, "Are you still working with Doctor Banner?" 

“Yeah, I am,” Jane replied. “I was just talking to him in the lab this morning, in fact.” She gave Natasha a puzzled look. “Why do you ask? Do you need help with something?”

“Possibly,” Natasha said. “I may pay a visit to the lab sometime and talk with you both. There’s something we observed that I’d like his input on, and yours would be valuable as well.” 

Jane shrugged. “I guess that would be okay,” she said, cautious but undeniably curious. 

Darcy picked up her glass. She’d been neglecting her mimosa in favor of the jolt of caffeine from the coffee, but the drink was good, cold and a little sweet. Listening to the conversation with half an ear, she sipped her drink slowly and brooded over Clint. It kind of made sense, when Natasha laid it out like she had, that a life spent mostly alone left Clint kind of... not aware of how his actions might affect her some of the time. It explained that hint of shyness she’d noticed at times, she thought. And it wasn’t like he was completely inconsiderate. He just wasn’t used to being with someone and making those little adjustments. She picked up a piece of bacon and nibbled it slowly, realizing for the first time that there might be some areas of their relationship where she had more experience than him. 

It was an interesting thought, and the more she turned it over in her head, the more it made sense. "Thanks for all the advice today," she told Natasha. "I gotta admit, I thought you didn't like me much there."

Natasha smiled, enigmatic as always. "I want what's best for my partner," she told her before turning back to Jane, inquiring about something scientific that went over Darcy's head. Darcy always liked hearing Jane talk science, even when she didn't understand it, so she sat back, sipping the rest of her mimosa, and watched these two women become friends. 

All in all, Darcy felt better when she returned home that afternoon. Although she had turned down Natasha's suggestion that they break into Clint's apartment and lie in wait for him, it felt good knowing she had an ally in Clint's partner, and that Natasha supported their relationship. 

Something else Natasha said resonated in Darcy's thoughts, just a brief mention about her education. "SHIELD will pay for grad school, you know, if they think it will benefit them." Now, back in her apartment, Darcy found herself curled up on the sofa, investigating various public policy programs that were offered at the nearby colleges and universities. 

Her phone began to vibrate. 

_I think I owe you an apology. Dinner tonight at my place?_

Darcy stared down at the message for a moment, wondering what Natasha had done. She had said no to the idea of breaking in to ambush Clint, but that didn’t mean Natasha couldn’t have hunted him down and given him a heads up. In the end, though, she knew her answer would be the same either way. _Dinner sounds great. Seven?_

_Let’s say six-thirty. See you then._

She read a little more information on the grad programs she’d found, but Darcy wasn’t as focused on that as she had been earlier. Instead she was burning with curiosity, wondering just what Clint was thinking right now. She hoped he didn’t think she was angry at him, because she wasn’t. 

Darcy gave up on her research, bookmarking her results to read through later. Instead, she busied herself with mindless tasks, cleaning and doing laundry until at last she found herself standing in her bedroom, staring into her closet. Then she shrugged and chose a pair of jeans and a soft, low-cut top, but she rummaged in her dresser for a pretty bra and matching panties, just in case. When she had changed clothes she brushed her hair and left it loose, then put on a little lip gloss.

At last she decided she was stalling for time, so she slipped on a pair of shoes and left. It was six-thirty on the dot when she stepped out of the elevator on Clint’s floor, and as she walked up to the door she heard the click as it unlocked for her. “Thanks, JARVIS,” she murmured, and let herself in. She could smell something delicious and familiar. "Hello," she called out, stepping in and walking toward the kitchen.

She found Clint there, pulling a pan out of the oven. "Hey," he said, dropping the pan onto the counter and pulling off his oven mitts before walking over and greeting her with a hug and a kiss. "Thanks for coming."

"Thanks for inviting me," Darcy answered, feeling better. Clint seemed to be in a good mood, and it was clear he'd gone out of his way to make this nice for her. Soft jazz music played from invisible speakers, there were some candles lit on the table, and a bottle of red wine was open and breathing. "You have a good day?"

"I got a lot done, yeah," he told her. "Wine?" 

Darcy held up one of the glasses, watching Clint's face as he poured her a generous measure. "So, what did she say to you?" Darcy asked, cutting straight to the chase. 

Pouring himself a glass, Clint made a little noise. "I was reminded that I do not exist in a vacuum, and that other people care about me. Also, I am dim-witted, slow to learn, and should be grateful that you're here with me tonight, which I am. Grateful, that is," he added, lifting his glass to hers. "I'm sorry for just running out this morning, Darce. I didn't think."

She lifted her glass and then took a drink, then put her glass down and slid her arms around his waist, pressing close against his side. “You know I’m not angry with you, right?” Darcy reached up to kiss him on the cheek. “I just didn’t really know what to think.”

“You have every right to be pissed,” he told her. He wrapped his arm around her waist, looking pleased and more than a little relieved. “But I’m glad you’re not.” Clint kissed the top of her head. “Are you hungry? I made lasagna, but I heard you went to the Russian Tea Room earlier.” 

“Oh my God,” Darcy moaned, remembering the brunch. “It was amazing, and I want to go back there sometime. But did you say lasagna?” She peeked over his shoulder at the pan on top of the stove. “And is that garlic bread?” She looked up at him with a soft smile that was a little shy. “You made that from scratch?”

“It’s not that hard,” he told her, reaching up to touch her cheek. “But I remembered you saying it’s your favorite, and I wanted to do something special for you.” It was more than special, Darcy decided by the time they were done. Lasagna and salad, warm bread and a full-bodied Cabernet Sauvignon that she suspected might have come from Tony Stark's wine room. 

There was dessert tucked somewhere in the kitchen. "I'm a cook, not a baker," Clint admitted as he showed her the dark chocolate cake that he’d bought, along with some ice cream, but both of them had eaten their fill and they decided to hold off for a little while. Now they were sitting on the sofa, Darcy leaning back against Clint and looking at the New York skyline outside his huge floor-to-ceiling windows as the music continued to play. 

She sensed that Clint had something on his mind, so she stayed quiet, playing with his fingers, rough and calloused. Eventually he spoke. "So, this morning," he began, and she stilled. 

"Yes?" 

"This morning, you wanted me to- I mean, you wanted us to..." Clint leaned forward and turned his head to look at her face. "With me?"

Darcy tilted her head back to meet his gaze, aware that she was a little pink. “Well... yeah, of course with you. I mean, I’ve been thinking about it for a while now, but last night...” She paused, biting her lip. “You have no idea how close I was to slipping off my nightgown and kissing you awake again.” She gave him a rueful grin. “But you were so tired, I didn’t have the heart to wake you up. And then I fell asleep thinking about waking you up this morning instead. But... your phone beat me to it.”

She shook her head, her cheeks bright pink now. “I can’t believe she told you all that,” Darcy murmured. “But... yes. I would like to. Very much.” She shifted in Clint’s arms so that she could face him. 

He was looking back at her with this expression on his face. She'd seen it before, as if something inside him didn't understand what was happening. "Tasha didn't tell me," he told her, stroking Darcy's jaw. "I'm not the sharpest tack in the bunch, but I can put two and two together." Clint made a soft groaning noise as she settled into his arms. "Wish I'd stayed here this morning with you, baby," he whispered, leaning in and kissing her temple. "But I'm scared, too."

It was the last thing she expected to hear. "Clint?" she asked, lifting her chin to look at him.

"I've got no business being anyone's first lover, Darcy." Clint played with a strand of her hair, curling it around his finger. "You deserve the best, something romantic and perfect, with flowers and candles and I don't know. Rose petals, is that what they do?" 

"That's not what I've been waiting for," Darcy told him, filled with this overwhelming sense of power, that this man, strong and assertive, wanted to do this for _her_. "Maybe I was just waiting for you to come into my life."

Right now, Clint looked at her like she was the only person in the world. It was a heady feeling. "But it's what you're gonna get, okay? Not some morning fumbling with someone who hasn't showered in two days. That first time, it's gonna be perfect for you, I promise." Clint kissed her soft, pulling soft on her lower lip. "And the second time, and the next time, and then after that," he murmured against her lips, kissing her deeper.

Darcy lifted her hand to his cheek as those kisses deepened, something tugging deep inside her at the idea of not just that first time, but more. She shifted closer, her lips parting as she smiled against his mouth. This man... he wasn’t perfect, but he was a good man, and Darcy thought he just might be perfect for her. “I think,” she murmured between kisses, “... I like the way you think.” 

It felt so good, being wrapped up in his arms, his body solid and warm against hers. Darcy’s fingers traced over his skin, stroking from his cheek down along the line of his neck, then dipped below the open collar of his button-down shirt. She followed the line of bare skin down to the next button, then back up again, and laughed softly when she felt a rumble deep in his chest. “You like being petted,” she observed, her lips quirking as they broke apart for breath. Darcy nuzzled against Clint. “The back of your neck, your hair... and here,” she added, stroking along his collarbone. 

“Where else?” she breathed against his lips, then kissed him softly as her hands moved down his body, and began to explore.


	5. Chapter 5

When Darcy had first been offered the chance to live at Stark Tower, she'd thought they were crazy. Yes, the work she did with Jane had been important, enough that Thor vouched for her when she interviewed at SHIELD. Phil Coulson had liked her as well, and was probably the one responsible for them giving her a shot. But she hadn't expected the invite from Tony Stark to live with the rest of the Avengers and their team. 

Then Tony had explained that had been the plan all along. "You knew Agent Coulson. He needed someone who could work with big personalities--the biggest--and not get bowled over by them. If you could handle Blondie, then you can probably handle the rest of them. And maybe even me, I don't know, with some practice. And your taser."

There definitely were perks. A private gym with state of the art equipment, a movie room that somehow had access to even the newest releases, a swimming pool, and a common living area connected to a huge kitchen available for everyone's use. One never knew who they'd run into at all hours of the day, and Darcy found herself sometimes sharing ice cream with Iron Man at three in the morning, or running on a treadmill next to Captain America (who could run for a _really_ long time). This morning, Darcy felt like making some pancakes, but she had no syrup, so she headed up to the big kitchen to borrow some. 

Spotting Natasha sitting at the large table and drinking some coffee was a bit of a surprise. Hair pulled back and in workout clothes, it looked as if she'd just come from the gym. "Hey," she said, offering a warm smile. Darcy still remembered the good advice the other woman had offered her yesterday.

“Good morning,” Natasha said, returning that smile with one of her own. She raised an eyebrow as Darcy crossed the room and began rummaging in the refrigerator. “You’re up early. How was dinner?”

Darcy found the syrup, but decided not to take it back to her rooms. Instead, she checked the cabinets and found waffle mix. Perfect. “Dinner was amazing,” she said with a grin. She cut a glance over at Natasha as she dumped some of the mix into a bowl and added water. “And thank you, by the way. For the advice, and for whatever you said to Clint.” She reached over to turn on the waffle iron and returned to mixing the batter. 

“I take it he apologized,” Natasha said with a grin. 

“He did,” Darcy said. She eyed the bowl. “Want a waffle? I think I’ve made too much.” When Natasha nodded, Darcy pulled two plates out of the cabinet and then spooned some batter onto the waffle iron. She closed it and turned to see the other woman waiting, eyebrows lifted. “It was nice. I mean, we talked.”

“Talking is... good,” Natasha replied, considering.

Darcy nodded and leaned against the counter. “He wants to make things special. Candles, flowers, all of that.” She busied herself taking up the finished waffle and starting another, then getting silverware and pouring herself a cup of coffee. “He’s planning all of that for me.”

“I told you he cares for you,” Natasha said with a warm smile. She accepted the plate Darcy handed her with a quiet thank you and poured syrup over her waffle while it was hot. 

“I just... he’s going to do all of that, and I’d like to do something for him, get something new to wear. Not because I feel like he expects it or anything like that, but because I want to.” Darcy put her plate down and slid onto a stool. Then she looked up, her brow wrinkled as a new thought occurred to her. “This isn’t weird for you, is it? Talking about Clint this way?”

Natasha paused for a moment mid-bite, then shook her head. "What I want is for him to be happy." She went quiet a moment, as if trying to come up with the right words. "What Clint and I had was not a romance. It was what we both needed at the time, and I treasure those moments. But we work so much better as friends, and now he has you." She took another bite. "So to answer your question, it's a little weird, but I don't mind." 

Darcy was surprised by Natasha's matter of factness, though what she said made sense. "I'd appreciate any help, any suggestions on what he likes or doesn't like." 

 

Thirty minutes later, Darcy and Natasha were back in the backseat of the Bentley, heading to pick up Jane from her apartment on the Lower East Side. Happy was all smiles as he held the door open for Jane, who entered the car with a curious look. "So, what exactly does ‘emergency shopping trip’ mean?"

“I need help,” Darcy admitted. “Clint’s planning a special night for us. I want to get something to wear.” She explained what had happened the night before, Clint’s apology and their dinner and the talk they’d had. Darcy still caught herself smiling to herself when she thought about the rest of the night, the long, slow kisses and wandering hands as they lay on Clint’s sofa. And then later, cake and ice cream and more kisses, snuggled together and watching _Star Wars_. 

She hadn’t spent the night, but Clint had walked her back to her door, stealing kisses when they were on the elevator and again before she walked inside. Lying in her bed that night, she imagined what it would have been like to go further on that sofa - but in the end, she understood what Clint wanted and why he was doing it, probably as much for him as for her.

Natasha directed Happy to drop them off at an address on West 14th Street and come back for them in two hours, though Darcy couldn't imagine it taking them that long. She'd assumed they'd head for one of the department stores, but the small intimate storefront made more sense, especially given what they were there to purchase. 

Even the price tags were fancy, handwritten on small paper circles and tied to the undergarments. "This bra costs two hundred dollars," she whispered to Jane, who looked like she was trying not to look shocked. Natasha seemed at home here, gliding from rack to rack, alternately eyeballing Darcy's chest and the selection of brassieres. 

An older woman stepped behind Darcy. "Size?" she asked, also peeking down at Darcy's chest and shaking her head when Darcy answered. Whisked into one of the dressing rooms, the woman pursed her lips together at the sight of the bra Darcy was wearing, older but still comfortable. "This is not correct," she insisted, and began wrapping her tape measure all around Darcy's breasts and torso. "I'll be back with some selections," she finally told her, satisfied, and then she was gone. 

Jane poked her head in the curtain. "Are you okay?" she asked, giggling a little.

Darcy was still a little stunned by the sales lady’s whirlwind tactics. She blinked at Jane, then looked down at herself. “Apparently all my bras are too small,” she said, wrapping her arms around her middle. She peeked over Jane’s shoulder, looking for Natasha. She’d never shopped somewhere so upscale, where things were just brought to her, and it felt a little weird. Everything was so gorgeous, silk, satin, and lace catching her eye everywhere she looked. “This place is pretty amazing,” she said. “I don’t even know where to start.” There was almost too much to choose from. 

“This one’s pretty,” Jane observed, holding up a silky, dark pink babydoll from a rack next to the dressing room. “I don’t know, Darce. I think you should just pick what you like. Something you’re comfortable with, you know?” She looked at the price tag and made a little noise. “That’s actually not _that_ bad,” she murmured, stroking the soft material. 

“You should get that,” Darcy urged her. “Come on, try it on. I feel weird, being the only one half-naked in here,” she joked.

“...I think I will,” Jane decided. She flipped through the rack looking for her size, then poked her head back in. “What size did she say you actually are?” she asked. “Because if this fits, you should get this one.” Jane held up a sheer, lilac-colored gown. “I couldn’t wear it, but it’d look good with your pale skin.”

Darcy looked at the tag. “I think it’ll work. Unless the sales lady decides otherwise.” She hung the gown on one of the hooks in the room and waited for Jane to step inside. “Where’s Natasha?”

Jane shrugged, hanging up the pink babydoll and slipping off her jacket. “She was over by the bustiers when I saw her last.”

"You should get something in red, I know Thor likes red." Darcy paused, fingering the lacy material. "Haven't seen him around the tower much lately."

"And you won't, not for a while." Jane's voice couldn't hide her irritation. "He has business in Asgard to attend to. I'm not sure when he'll return."

"Oh Jane," Darcy began, feeling terrible. She'd been so caught up in her own drama that she totally missed her friend's troubles. 

But right at that moment, the sales lady returned with an armful of bras and things for Darcy. “All of these have the matching panty, but first let’s make sure we have the right fit." She touched Darcy on the arm, giving her a knowing smile. "Don't be afraid to embrace the bigger letters, sweetie. I’ll be right outside while you change.”

Darcy stared at her, then glanced down, her eyebrow raising at the size. "I didn't think they got bigger than double D," she murmured. She picked one and hung the others up. 

Jane peeked over and then whistled low. "Impressive," she told her just as the saleslady began eyeballing her, reaching for her measuring tape once more. 

As much as Darcy hated to admit it, she could tell the bra fit better the moment she got it on. It was snug around her rib cage, with full cups that supported her breasts, but it still looked stylish. "Not bad," she told the saleswoman, who clucked back in amusement, then went off to help another customer. "So what do you think?" she asked Jane as she looked in the mirror. 

Natasha slid the curtain open, her hands full of merchandise, glancing at both of them before speaking. "Has Marta taken care of you both?"

"She has," Darcy answered, curious. "You friends with the lingerie lady?" At this point, nothing about Natasha surprised Darcy anymore.

"She's helped me out tremendously in the past," Natasha answered. "In my line of work, I go through several of these a year. She sets aside special ones for me." 

“Special how?” Jane asked, picking up a corset made of dark red satin. “I mean, this is gorgeous. Is that it? Things that are unique or just top-of-the-line?”

Darcy looked at the pile of satin and lace that Natasha put down on the velvet bench in the dressing room. “That many?” she asked. Realistically, she knew there were assignments where you had to dress the part, but somehow standing here watching Natasha inspect each one critically before shrugging off her shirt and bra to try one on made Darcy realize she might be sent on that kind of mission herself one day. 

“It happens,” Natasha said simply. “Sometimes you have to use whatever tools you have available.” She finished fastening the bustier she was trying on and studied it in the mirror. “I think yes,” she decided. Then she glanced at Jane. “Marta knows my tastes, and knows that I need things that fit perfectly, because I can’t be distracted by ‘wardrobe malfunctions.’ Some of these are custom made to my measurements,” she explained. “Those are for work. The other ones I picked out...” She smiled, her eyes lighting up. “I just like those.” 

Jane nodded, but Darcy knew that look on her face meant Jane had read between the lines of the work comments and put two and two together. “That makes sense, I suppose. It’s bad enough in the lab, having to deal with an underwire poking me in the side. But I don’t like the idea of you being in that kind of situation. Either of you,” she said looking at Darcy and Natasha. Then she finished changing into the pink nightie and looked in the mirror, adjusting it a little. 

Natasha stepped up behind her, casting a glance at Darcy as she did that made her eyebrow go up. “I like this,” Natasha said quietly, reaching out to untwist one of the straps for Jane. “The color suits you.”

Jane caught Natasha’s eye in the mirror, a little startled, but pleased, if Darcy read her right. “Thank you,” Jane said. 

Darcy mulled over that while she tried on the rest of the bras, then slipped the lilac nightgown on over her jeans. It was pretty, she decided, a tiny smile on her face as she twisted and turned to get a look in the mirror. 

"Good color choice," Natasha told her. "Clint likes purple." 

 

Later that afternoon, Darcy flopped on her sofa, exhausted. The three women had shopped some more and then lunched at a local pub that reminded Darcy a bit of the bar back in New Mexico. So much had changed in the last six months, it was hard to think of that life before Thor literally fell into their lives. 

Darcy discovered during their meal that the mission Clint and Natasha had been on the previous week was connected to the surveillance she and Clint had done together that afternoon the week before that. Natasha was pleased to learn that Darcy had some knowledge of the case. "We need someone good on computers to help with some programming. Ready to break out of the training and get your hands dirty?"

“Are you kidding? I’d love to help,” she had told Natasha. 

She wasn't surprised when she turned on her laptop later and discovered that she now had Level Three clearance and a laundry list of code to begin debugging. 

Darcy was just beginning to read through the information when her phone vibrated. 

_Heading out of town in the morning, three days tops. Dinner on Friday?_

Darcy glanced over at the bags lying on her sofa. Reaching in, she pulled out one of the lacy nightgowns she’d chosen, fingering the delicate material and wondering if this was going to be the night. 

_Dinner sounds great. Have a safe trip, baby. Be careful._

The week passed uneventfully for the most part, the only excitement when there was a small fire in Tony’s workshop one afternoon. It had been contained and was over with by the time Darcy got home from work, and she probably wouldn’t have known about it if Tony hadn’t been in the common kitchen, covered in soot and what looked like fire-retardant foam, running through what had gone wrong while Bruce dabbed at a burn on his arm, occasionally interrupting Tony with a request to hold still. 

By Friday morning, Darcy was really looking forward to that night. Unraveling the packet of code she had been given had taken the better part of two or three days, but Darcy had discovered a pattern that helped finish the job. Buried in the code were a series of keywords, and while they didn’t mean much of anything individually, when she showed Agent Sitwell her notes he had given her an assessing look, then pulled her into his office.

There were a pair of arms transactions scheduled to take place sometime in the near future, but SHIELD hadn’t known where or when. The target in Queens had been a decoy, as had the one(s) in Cartagena. But both had the same stylistic elements, and all of the intelligence chatter had pointed to the two being connected. They just hadn’t been able to confirm that until now. There was now a new target: Singapore. Sitwell actually cracked a smile when he finished reading her notes. 

“Looks like we’ve got them dead to rights this time. Good work, Lewis. We ought to be able to get teams in place to stop them cold.” The praise still rang in her ears as she made her way home, sneaking out an hour early so that she could shower and do her hair. She Googled the place Clint had suggested, looking at the webpage and grinning. He was going all out, reservations at a notable restaurant in the West Village and dancing afterward. 

She also stopped off at a drugstore and picked up a box of condoms and some lubricant that was supposed to make things 'explode' inside her. Darcy wasn't sure about the explosions, but she did want to be prepared in case they went back to her room tonight. The first dress she picked out didn't feel right, so she changed (a couple of times), finally settling on a cute little shift dress that showed off just enough cleavage to keep Clint's attention on her. 

Clint knocked on the door at exactly seven o'clock, so promptly that she wondered if he'd been waiting outside. She hadn't ever seen him dressed up like this, in a dark shirt with suit pants. "Hey you," she told him, a strange fluttering in her stomach, nerves starting to work their way up already.

It made her feel a little better to see that Clint seemed a little anxious as well. Leaning in to kiss her cheek, he seemed very happy about her outfit. "You look amazing," he told her, lightly touching her shoulder and her hair.

“So do you,” Darcy replied. She gave him a soft kiss, her hands finding his and giving them a light squeeze. “Everything go okay?” she asked, looking up at him. The cut on his face had almost healed, and she didn’t see any new injuries, which was a relief. 

“Like clockwork,” he told her with a nod. He leaned in and caught her mouth again, lingering. “Been thinking about you all week,” he murmured as he pulled back. Darcy couldn’t help the tiny smirk when she saw his eyes drift downward again. “Are you ready to go?” he asked. “The car should be waiting downstairs.”

Darcy picked up the small clutch she’d stuffed some essentials into and nodded. “I was reading some reviews of the restaurant earlier,” she told him as they walked down to the elevator. “It sounds wonderful. How’d you find out about it?”

“I did a little research,” Clint admitted with a grin as they stepped into the elevator. “Wanted someplace quiet and romantic.”

It did not disappoint. Utterly charming in a provincial farmhouse sort of way, they were seated almost immediately upon arriving, given a basket of fresh warm bread and a bottle of red wine. Darcy couldn't remember when she had a better meal at a restaurant. When they walked out an hour and a half later, she felt warm and full, and ready for Clint's next surprise. The club/bar/place he wanted to take her to was a couple blocks over so they walked, Clint's arm wrapped around her shoulder.

Outside, the club was lit up with neon lights, but inside it had a rustic atmosphere, brick walls and wooden banisters. They stopped off at the first bar and got some drinks before heading toward the back, where people danced to pulsing beats under flashing lights. The place reminded Darcy of that bar in Puente Antiguo, simple and laid back, and once they had found a table next to a low couch she tugged Clint onto the dance floor. 

He wasn’t bad at all, Darcy observed, watching him as they danced to the upbeat song that was playing. But when the next song began, the music slow and sultry, she knew she’d been hooked. She gave him a slow smile as his hands settled on her hips, pulling her in close, and Darcy laughed softly as he touched his nose against her temple, her hands sliding up around his neck. They moved together slow and easy, and she liked the way his hand fit at the small of her back when he tugged her even closer to him. “You’re good at this,” she murmured in his good ear.

She could have danced for the rest of the night, but after that song there was a break in the music, so they headed back to their table. Darcy settled onto the couch and leaned against Clint’s side, the low lighting throughout the bar just enough that she could see him looking her over again. She liked that look on his face, like he couldn’t wait to get her alone, and she smiled and nuzzled against him. His fingertips grazed down her arm and she gave a soft laugh as she pulled back. 

They sat for a few minutes, finishing those first drinks and ordering more, and then began to explore the rest of the bar. There was a little room with a wall of books that made Darcy give a soft, longing noise, but it was full so they moved on. At last they found a billiards room, which by chance was empty. "What do you think, wanna play a game or two?" Clint asked.

Darcy grinned, warm from the dancing and the closeness to Clint. "I dunno, think your ego can take the pain of being beaten by a little thing like me?" Pressing against him, she played with the hair on the back of his head as she talked. 

Shaking his head, Clint kissed her temple. "You forget, I've seen you play." Tapping his finger against her nose, he smirked. "You're gonna run the table, and then what?"

"You're not too bad yourself, Barton," she reminded him. "I tell you what - let's make it interesting. Give you something to work for." Sliding closer, she lifted herself on her tiptoes and murmured into his ear. "Winner gets to claim some special treat tonight, when we're alone."

That put a wide grin on Clint's face. "You're on," he told her, a glint in his eye. "Now I'm gonna have to try really hard. Better get another drink before we get started, you know. Loosen me up a bit."

"Whatever," she pushed him lightly. Leaning against the table, she watched as he walked out of the room and toward the bar in the front, lost in thought a moment about how much fun they were both having tonight. He really had gone out of his way to make this night all about her, and she knew where they both wanted it to lead. 

Turning to the wall, Darcy began looking for a cue stick that suited her, and didn't hear the two men come into the room. "Looking for someone to play with, pretty lady?" 

Darcy inwardly groaned, then turned around. The bigger of the two was wearing a blue shirt and jeans, and his smaller friend was wearing the same, only his shirt was green. The looks on their faces were identical, though. She knew these guys’ type, had spent her life avoiding their clumsy and arrogant advances. "Sorry, I already got a partner. He'll be here soon." As if he heard her, Clint reappeared with their beers, heading toward the table.

“How about a game then?” the larger of the two guys asked. “Me and my buddy here, against you and your boyfriend. Losers buy a round of drinks.”

She pretended to think about it for a moment. “I guess that’d be all right,” Darcy said as Clint reached her side. She took the beer he held out to her and leaned into him with a smile. “These guys have challenged us to a game, baby. What do you think?” she asked, deadpan. 

“That so?” Clint asked, giving each of them a cool, unimpressed look. But he slid his arm around her and played along, giving her a quick kiss on the forehead. “Sounds like a deal to me,” he agreed with a nod. “Losers buy the drinks, did I hear that right?” He reached for a cue stick and handed it to Darcy. 

“Ladies first,” said Green Shirt. 

“Thank you,” Darcy said demurely. She racked the balls while he and Blue Shirt got their cues. Clint was standing back and watching. She glanced up and gave him a smile, catching a gleam of amusement in his eyes as she deliberately took her time setting the table up. When she was done, she walked around to the end of the table and lined up her shot. 

She hesitated for a moment when Blue Shirt moved into her line of vision and looked up to see his eyes glued to her breasts. She suppressed an eye roll and made her shot, the balls scattering across the table. The ten went in the side pocket, and Darcy stood back to survey her work. “Looks like we’re stripes,” she announced. She could see the two guys silently communicating with each other, and Blue Shirt took the first shot. He reminded her of those frat guys she'd known in college - all flash and no substance. He managed through brute force to get the four into the side pocket, and sent the cue ball spinning. 

Clint watched all this with a focus that reminded her of when he trained with his bow. Darcy liked how his body moved, how his ass looked as he bent over and quickly dropped two more balls for them. But she was so busy watching Clint that she missed Green Shirt stepping close behind her, pressing into her. "Sorry," he whispered, his breath warm in her ear as he walked past her, his arm brushing against her as he set up his next shot. 

Darcy straightened, and Clint could see that something was wrong. He slid over to her side, taking a sip from his beer and putting his arm around her shoulder. "You ready to make some money, baby?" he murmured, eyeballing the table. It wasn't the easiest set up, but she could see several places where the shots wouldn't be too difficult.

“Mmhmm,” she murmured as she cast a sidelong glance at the others. Green Shirt was saying something to his buddy, and Darcy could just guess what, going by the leer Blue Shirt shot her way. She stepped up and bent to take the first shot, pocketing another ball. That left her walking around to the other side of the table for her next shot, aware of Clint’s eyes on her as she leaned in to check the angle. Darcy gave him a smile, then froze when she felt something dragging slowly along the back of her thigh, inching upward. She straightened and turned, eyebrow raised, and stared at Blue Shirt until he pulled his cue stick back against his side. 

“Sorry about that,” he told her with a smirk. 

Darcy turned back to the table and quickly pocketed three more balls in succession. “Not a problem,” she said, aware of Clint prowling closer to her, pinning the other two with an icy glare that would be enough to warn most people to back the hell off. Darcy glanced over the table, then faced the idiots, who were blinking at the remaining balls, just beginning to catch on to the fact that they were about to lose. “Eight ball, side pocket.” She turned and struck the cue with a sharp click, and then watched the eight ball rebound off the bumper and drop.

“Looks like drinks are on you,” Clint observed coolly. He had inserted himself between Darcy and the others while she wasn’t looking. "Or did you want to make it double-or-nothing?"

But the guys didn't like that, not one bit. "What is this shit?" Green Shirt walked toward them, his chest puffed out ridiculously. "This some little scam you two run? You dress this little bitch up and have her con people?" Darcy knew they didn't see Clint as any sort of trouble, not when it was two against one. Blue Shirt stood by the door, as if he wanted to make sure no one came in to interrupt them. 

She felt Clint stiffen, his hand resting against the small of her back as he guided her toward the wall. "Wait here, baby, I'll handle this," he told her, both of them watching as Green Shirt reached for his cue stick. What happened next was a blur. As soon as the cue stick moved close to Clint he grabbed it, twisted it hard and caught Green off guard as the butt of the stick hit Green square in the chest. Blue moved in, and Clint spun around, breaking the cue stick in two and hitting Blue on the back of the head, kicking out his legs beneath him. 

Green seemed to be moving in slow motion, out of breath, but as soon as he saw his friend go down he went for Clint, who somehow was able to pinch the larger man on the back of his neck. Darcy watched Green fall to his knees, eyes fluttering before he passed out on the floor. Blue looked like he was trying to get up, but then Darcy slammed her cue stick into his back and he slumped back onto the floor and lay still. 

She stepped over Blue, careful to kick him in the side as she did. Then Darcy dropped her cue stick on the table and watched while Clint hauled the two losers into chairs. She picked up a drink napkin and used it to move their beers over to their sides--accidentally-on-purpose tipping Green’s over so it spilled into his lap--then let Clint tug her toward the exit. Darcy stayed close against his side as they worked their way through the crowd, their own drinks in hand. They deposited them on a table before ducking out the door. 

Retracing their steps to where the car was waiting, Darcy pulled Clint aside into the shadow of an entryway. Her heart was still thumping, and she stared at him in the moonlight for a moment before she reached out and hauled him close. She kissed him hard, her hands sliding over his back, and didn’t pull back until they were both breathless. One of Clint’s hands was tangled in her hair, cradling the back of her head to keep her from bumping against the brick wall, while his other had slipped down to the curve of her backside. Darcy gave him a soft nip. “You win,” she told him, "but don't ever put me in a corner like that again, Barton. I can fight just the same as you." 

Even as she said that, something about seeing him in action like that had made her stomach do flips, and she actually had to resist the urge to squirm against him. She felt so turned on, flushed and aching, and she couldn’t wait to get back to the tower. “What do you think you’d like for your treat?” she asked, in between kisses. 

Clint groaned quietly as they kissed, the noises he made only turning Darcy on even more. More than that, she could feel how turned on Clint was, the hardness of his body pressed against hers. His fingers played with the thin fabric of her dress, lightly tugging at it. He licked his lips, staring at her mouth. "I want," he began, breathing hard now, "I want to see you undress for me." The smile on his face was precious, and she kissed him again as he spoke. "Take off this dress slowly." One more kiss. "That okay?" he asked, a hint of uncertainty in his eyes that made her insides melt.

Best of all, it was something she wanted to do for him. "Better than okay," she told him, then let him guide her to the waiting car. Clint's hand rested on her knee, making small circles with his thumb on her skin. 

They were both quiet on the ride back to the tower, neither of them feeling the need to talk. All of Darcy’s attention was focused on the slide of Clint’s thumb against her knee, the roughened skin making her shiver as heat pooled low inside her. She looked over at him at one point and caught him watching her, the smile on his face saying he still didn’t quite understand how he’d gotten so lucky. She smiled back, her hand covering his, her fingertips stroking lightly along his fingers.

Clint got out of the car first when they’d reached the garage, and after helping Darcy out he led her to the elevator, his hand warm against her back as they walked. Darcy turned to him when the elevator doors slid shut, and he just gave her a look that said _soon_.

When they reached her floor he let her lead the way, but once they were inside his arms slid around her and he kissed her, slow and soft, pressing her gently back against the closed door as he took his time, nibbling and teasing. Darcy moaned softly, clinging to his shoulders, her purse falling to the floor. At last he pulled back, and Darcy sighed. 

“I believe you earned yourself a treat earlier,” she murmured, pressing her lips to his again. She slid her hands down to his and led him toward the living room. It was then that she spotted the flowers on the bar. Darcy looked at the vase, distracted by the display of tulips and roses in shades of pink, and then back at him. “How did you do that?” she asked, ridiculously pleased that he’d done something so thoughtful for her. “They’re gorgeous,” she told him, stopping to breathe in their scent. 

“Natasha and JARVIS helped,” he admitted. “And Jane, I think.” Clint smiled at the look of wonder on her face. “Told you I wanted this to be perfect,” he murmured. He brushed her hair back and planted a soft kiss below her ear. Darcy smiled, a soft noise escaping her as she found his hand again. “Come on,” she said, leading him over to the sofa. She turned her back to him then, and swept her hair to the side. “A little help?” she asked, glancing at him over her shoulder.

She liked the way Clint’s eyes went dark when he reached for her, his fingers tracing along her bare skin above the neckline before carefully lowering the zipper. Even better, though, was the way he squeezed her shoulders next, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “There’s no rush, baby. Anything you’re not comfortable with, you tell me, okay?” 

Darcy smiled as she turned around, her insides melting even more from those quiet words and the knowledge that he wanted her, but wanted her to be comfortable too. She gave Clint a nod, but then pushed him down, watching as he sat. His eyes never left hers. For a moment she hesitated, not sure how to begin, but then she remembered that slow dance at the bar and began to move, letting her hands linger over her skin as she began to slip the dress down off her shoulders. 

She heard Clint sigh when her dress hit the floor, and she stood before him wearing nothing but a silky purple bra with matching lace panties. Darcy knew she looked good, the pale skin of her breasts emphasized by the rich jewel tone of the fabric. Cupping one of her breasts, she closed her eyes and moaned, imaging Clint's hand on her instead. Her other hand slid down her side, her thumb hooking the side of her panties, tugging just enough to tease him as she danced slow. 

When Darcy looked back down at Clint, she was stunned by the hunger on his face. That potent feeling was back, having this man in the palm of her hand - it filled her and gave her the courage to take this one step further. She stepped close to Clint, straddling him, her hands finding his shoulders as she settled on top of him. Darcy couldn't help the smile on her face when his hands slid up her back, holding her tight as they kissed soft and tender.

Then it changed, like a light switch flicked on, and his hands were everywhere - in her hair, on her ass, sliding up her side. Clint's mouth found her throat and Darcy groaned, leaning back to give him better access. One of his hands played with the strap on her bra, then it was cupping her breast, squeezing it lightly. "Yes," she breathed into his ear as his thumb circled a hard nipple, feeling him shudder beneath her. "Please, baby." 

That was all he needed. Darcy felt the fabric of her bra being pulled down, one full breast exposed. Clint nuzzled it before slowly flicking his tongue at her nipple, and Darcy cried out when he pulled it into his mouth and sucked hard, clinging to him and pressing against his erection. 

_BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP-_ She heard Clint's phone, the familiar set of tones that she now knew meant SHIELD. He ignored it for a few seconds, then pulled back, pressing his forehead against her neck. "Fuck," he murmured, and then Darcy's phone went off. "This isn't happening..."

Unbelievable. Darcy slid off Clint's lap, sliding her bra strap back up while she reached for her phone. "It's Sitwell," she growled as Clint read his own message. "I'm supposed to report to headquarters as soon as possible. Same?" she asked him, sitting on the sofa next to him.

Clint nodded. "Yeah," he began then stopped, "I mean, no. Gotta rendezvous with Tasha. Wheels up in an hour. Dammit." He tossed his phone back onto the table, visibly frustrated, his arm snaking around her. "Darcy, I'm so sorry, baby. This was supposed to be perfect for you."

Darcy curled up against his side, her head on his shoulder. “It’s not your fault,” she told him, then shifted to give him another soft kiss. “Tonight was pretty amazing, Clint.” She liked the way he was looking at her, and could imagine the picture she made right now, with her skin still flushed and her hair tousled from his hands. And his mouth... she made a soft, hungry noise as she pressed her lips to his again, but Darcy knew neither of them had time, not now. 

“I guess we’ll have to pick up where we left off when you get back,” she said. 

He touched his fingers to her chin, holding her still while he kissed her again. “We will, baby.” Another slow, lingering kiss and Clint slipped off the sofa, reaching for his phone and sliding it in his pocket. “I’d better go,” he said. “If I’m lucky, I’ll have time for a quick shower before meeting Tasha.” His eyes were still dark as he looked down at Darcy, and she felt herself flush again. “A cold one,” he added, reaching down to brush a stray curl back off her cheek. 

Her eyes dropped to the front of his pants, and Darcy bit her lip, her insides fluttering at the knowledge that she had affected him that much. “I could help you with that,” she started, sliding toward the edge of the sofa and reaching out for him, but Clint leaned down and kissed her again, quick and hard, his hand cradling the back of her head.

“No, baby. Believe me,” he said against her mouth, “I want that. You’ve got no idea how much that turns me on, the idea of that sassy mouth on me. But not like this, when we both have to rush out the door.” Clint pulled back and planted a kiss on her nose. 

“...All right,” Darcy said at last. She climbed to her feet and hugged him tight. “Go. Be careful.” She hesitated, nosing against him. “Call me later, if you can.” At last she pulled back and knelt to pick up her dress. “I should go change and head out before Sitwell calls again, I guess.” 

“Get Happy to drive you,” Clint said, stroking her cheek. “It’s late, and we’ve both had a few drinks. Okay?” He kissed her again, then turned to go.

Darcy nodded, watching him leave. “Okay.” She looked down at her crumpled dress as the door clicked shut and gave another growl of frustration, almost a whine. It had all been so perfect, and now she had to go back to work and try to concentrate on anything but the feel of Clint’s mouth on her. She shook her head and went into the bedroom. Maybe a cold shower wasn’t a bad idea.


	6. Chapter 6

The next couple days were a whirlwind. Sitwell had been impressed with Darcy's computer skills and offered her more challenging work. The best part was that she found herself working on Clint and Natasha's mission so she could surreptitiously monitor their whereabouts and keep track that he was safe. 

The worst part was that she found herself working on Clint and Natasha's mission - and she learned just how touchy the entire situation had become. It wasn't that Clint had lied to her, but she hadn't expected them to be put in quite that level of danger, or so far away. Singapore felt like the other side of the world, which it probably was, and it made any sort of communication between the two of them very hit or miss, while only added to her sense of helplessness and irritation. 

At least she could sort of keep track on him and how he was doing. Darcy had initially thought this was a positive aspect of her new job, and as far as she knew Sitwell wasn't aware of the personal side of her relationship with Clint. Or maybe he was but he didn't care. Regardless, one afternoon she was asked to decode a series of notes that Natasha had sent, and while going over the language something caught Darcy's eye that made her pause and stop. 

_Agent Romanoff instigated intimate relations with "Antonia" as previously mentioned; unfortunately the encounter was interrupted. Intelligence suggested that the sisters would be going underground until Valjean completed his weapons test. This left us without any knowledge of their next destination._

_To rectify this, Agent Barton was sent in under the guise of Agent Romanoff's benefactor. After engaging "Blanca" in conversation, he initiated a romantic encounter for the purpose of determining their next base of operation - Venice, Italy. More details to follow. Agents Barton and Romanoff returning within next 48 hours._

Darcy stared at the desk for a long time after reading this. Had she not been assigned to this mission, any report she would have seen regarding it might have had the names of the agents, targets, and locations removed or redacted. She would have never known that Clint 'initiated romantic encounters' with Italian women to get information. Of course, a few months ago, that wouldn't have mattered to her. 

A few months ago, he was just an agent and she was just a trainee. But now they were a couple, two people who wanted to be together, and not just some casual fling. No, they hadn't talked about being serious but nothing in their time together, in the way that Clint looked at her the way he held her - none of that felt like it was casual on his part either. 

Was she glad she knew this? Not really. Filing the report in the correct computer drive, Darcy finished decrypting and re-encrypting the notes and headed home.

 

She hadn’t gone to sleep right away. Instead, she’d tossed and turned a little, thinking about that note and wondering why it had never occurred to her before, that Clint might have to get close to people as part of the job. She fell asleep after midnight, and stopped for a large mocha latte on her way to work the next day.

That day was uneventful. By the next morning, Natasha had made contact; they were on the jet, headed home. Darcy was sitting at her desk that afternoon, reading through more reports when her phone vibrated. She didn’t need to look to know who it was, but when she picked up the phone and saw Clint’s name she was relieved. “Hey, you.” 

“Darce, we just finished debriefing with Sitwell.” Clint’s voice sounded rough.

“You sound awful,” she said, frowning. “Is everything okay?” He didn’t sound hurt, not exactly, but definitely not himself.

“I’m all right, I guess. Coming down with something, though, so I’ve got to report to Medical. I felt fine before we left, so they want to check me out, to be on the safe side.” His voice suggested what he thought about that, but Darcy was glad to know that he was following orders this time. She suspected Natasha probably had something to do with that. 

“Let me know when you’re out,” Darcy said. “We can head back home together." A dull pit lingered in her stomach, an ache that she wasn't sure how to fix. Darcy wanted to talk to Clint about what she knew, and at the same time, she didn't want to know about this side to him and his work. They weren't exactly at a place in their relationship where demands could be made, and even if they were... well, it wasn't like she didn't know what he did for a living when she started dating him. 

It just all felt so unsettling. By the time Clint sent her a text letting her know they were done with him, she'd tried to stop worrying about it, but that feeling was still there and she didn't know how to handle it. But when she spotted Clint, holding his face in his hands as he sat on the table in one of the medical bays, all those thoughts got pushed aside. "Hey," she told him, stepping closer, taking a look around to see if they were alone. 

Clint didn't seem to care. Reaching for her, one arm wrapped tight around her waist and he rested his head against her chest. "They told me I could go, if someone made sure I got home." The crooked grin on his face looked tired, and she could see he was holding his hearing aid, turning his head and pointing at his right ear. "Can I catch a ride with you?" 

"I guess so," she told him, pushing a piece of hair out of his warm face. "Gonna find a cab though, I don't want you on the subway like this." Clint didn't argue, just let her finish dressing him and together they walked out of the infirmary, Clint clinging to her. "If you wanted us to stay a secret, this wasn't a good idea," she murmured in his ear, her arm wrapped firmly around him. 

"Don't care," Clint told her, but she wasn't entirely sure of his judgment right now. It didn't take long to find a cab, and soon they were back in the tower, heading to Clint's apartment. The doors unlocked for him, and she got him inside and on his bed as fast as she could. "So tell me, what did the doctor say?" she asked, watching him kick off his boots and settle into the bed. "What do you need?"

“He said it’s an ear infection. I sorta let it get bad. Just need to rest a few days, let it run its course. There’s some medicine in my bag.” Clint shivered a little as he began to pull off his shirt. Darcy reached out to rest her hand on his shoulder. 

“Be still,” she told him. “Let me help.” Darcy got Clint’s shirt over his head and reached for his pants. “Do you think you can eat anything?” she asked, tugging them down and off and leaving him in his black boxer briefs. 

“Some soup, maybe?” Clint asked. “I don’t know if there’s any in the kitchen. Might have to order it, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course I don’t mind. I’ll do that, get myself something to eat, too,” Darcy told him. She grabbed the blanket that was folded across the foot of Clint’s bed and spread it over him. As she tucked it up to his chin, Darcy gave him a rueful smile. “I’m sorry you’re sick, baby,” she murmured, smoothing his hair back.

“So’m I,” Clint rasped. He frowned, reaching for her hand. “Guess this ruins our plans again,” he said. Darcy took his hand and squeezed it, sitting on the edge of his bed. 

“It’ll happen,” she told him. “Right now, I just want you feeling better.” Darcy didn’t have the heart to bring up the mission now, not while he obviously felt so wretched. She watched his eyes shut and leaned in to kiss his forehead. “I’m going to run to my place and get a change of clothes, but I’m coming right back here, okay? I’ll take care of you,” she murmured. 

Clint’s eyes blinked open, and he gave her a nod. “‘Kay.” 

The trip down to her apartment was quick. Darcy changed out of her work clothes and got together everything she would need for two or three days. She called Sitwell while she was gone, too, asking for the day off that he’d promised her after that all-nighter. Word had gotten to him, from the sound of it, and he agreed, then asked her to please make sure Barton followed the doctor’s orders. 

When she returned, Clint was sleeping fitfully. Darcy quietly put her bag of clothes in the bedroom and then tiptoed back out. Clint’s bag was on the sofa where she’d dropped it earlier. She found the bottles of medicine and checked the labels. Antibiotics and painkillers; he’d need a dose of both before settling in for the night. Darcy carried the bottles with her to the kitchen and checked the cabinets. There wasn’t any canned soup; she hadn’t really expected it, not with how he liked to cook for himself. She asked JARVIS to place an order for the Chinese restaurant frequented by most of the tower’s occupants. Wonton soup and dumplings ought to be easy enough to eat, she thought. She added some pepper steak and noodles for herself, and made a note to go to the market the next day. 

While she was waiting for the food, Darcy found a bottle of Gatorade in the refrigerator and carried it and the medicine into the bedroom. The bed was empty, and Darcy heard water running in the bathroom. "You okay?" she called out louder than normal, sitting on the bed and waiting for him. 

It was a moment before he answered. "I'm good," he said, the door opening. Darcy had to disagree. His face was flushed with fever, his greenish eyes too bright, and she reached out, helping him back to the bed. She handed him the medicine and twisted the cap off the Gatorade so he could wash the pills down.

"You're getting worse," she told him, running a hand over his forehead. "When did you start feeling bad?"

Clint tilted his head as he looked at her. "As soon as we hit the plane, I just crashed. This mission was a hard one. Didn't eat or sleep much." His hand reached up to touch her hair, blinking sleepily at her. "Missed you so much. Wanted to talk to you, but couldn't." 

Darcy remembered what she'd read about the mission, but she couldn't bring it up now. When their dinner arrived, she set her noodles aside while she fed him his soup, one spoonful at a time. "I could do that," he told her, though only half-heartedly trying to get the spoon from her. 

"Nope," she answered, popping a wonton into his mouth. "I am under strict orders to make sure you get well, Agent Barton. I don't want Sitwell on my ass because you can't shake this." Bending down, she kissed his forehead. "Will Natasha be calling you at the ass-crack of dawn again?" she asked, smiling as she remembered that morning. Seemed like a long time ago.

Clint chuckled too. "No, she knows you're taking care of me." After she placed the empty bowl on the night table she felt Clint reaching for her hands. He didn't say anything, but Darcy knew he wanted her there, so she leaned back against the pillows, settling on his right side, her fingers playing with the short hairs by his temple and watching as he fell asleep. 

She watched over him for a long time, until the lines between his brows faded a little. Hoping that meant the medicine was doing its thing, Darcy slipped off the bed and tucked the blanket up over Clint. She cleared the empty soup bowl away and carried it into the kitchen, where she ate her own dinner. Then, Darcy made a shopping list for the next day and checked her messages. The one from Sitwell telling her to work from home until Monday made her raise her eyebrows for a moment, but she sent a quick acknowledgement. Then she sent a text to Natasha. _Medicated and fed. Sleeping now._

The reply was almost immediate. _Good. Call if you need anything._

The dishes didn’t take long to wash, and after that Darcy took her tablet into the bedroom and changed into the camisole and shorts she had brought to sleep in. She checked Clint’s forehead, smiling when he made a quiet noise. He was still a little too warm, though, and she slipped into the bathroom to get a cool, wet washcloth. Darcy folded it and put it over his forehead, then crawled into bed and picked up her tablet.

**

Darcy yawned and sipped her cup of coffee as she walked back to the tower the next morning. Clint had gotten restless sometime in the middle of the night, and she had woken when she felt him get up. She remembered getting him another drink and some more medicine, and soaking the wet cloth again. They’d both fallen back to sleep after that, and she had woken again at seven to see him sleeping more or less soundly. He sounded congested, but his fever felt a little lower. She put the morning dose of medicine next to the bed with a fresh drink and a note before leaving to get the shopping done. 

_Gone to pick up some groceries._  
 _I’ll be back in a little while._  
 _Be good and I’ll bring you a treat._  
 _D._

She had been gone for maybe an hour when JARVIS let her back in. Darcy unpacked the food and put it away, using her best judgment to figure out where he kept everything. Then she went to check on Clint and found him sitting up, reading her note. “Morning,” she said, walking over to run her hand over his head, the sight of his rumpled hair making her smile. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” Clint admitted. He gave her a faint smile, though he looked a little confused. “Thanks for staying, baby, but aren’t you going to be late for work?” He looked at her jeans and black t-shirt. 

“Sitwell owed me a day off, after keeping me at headquarters all night last Friday,” Darcy replied. Then she smiled and kissed Clint on the forehead. “But, as it turns out, I get to work from home for the rest of this week, since he seems to think that will increase the likelihood that you actually follow instructions and rest.”

"Sitwell's not a dummy," he told her, putting his tablet aside. "Natasha met with him this morning, said he was all aglow with how good you were at whatever you were doing. Gushing, that was the word she used." Clint talked proudly about her, and that made Darcy feel better, but it also reminded her about what she'd been doing - and his mission. 

"It felt good, like I was doing real work." She hesitated before adding, "And it was nice, being able to keep up with you. Felt like I was right there with you." 

"You don't want to be out there, Darce," Clint said, throwing his legs off the bed and sitting up. "I don't care what it looks like in the movies, there's nothing fun or glamorous about undercover work," he told her as he walked into the bathroom.

"I guess," Darcy answered, sitting on the bed. "I remember Natasha telling me and Jane about it, when we were bra shopping. She has someone who orders special bras for her job." Darcy realized he probably couldn't hear her, but she kept talking anyway. "Not that I have to worry about that, sitting behind a computer and decoding mission reports." 

When Clint emerged from the bathroom, something about his face told Darcy that he understood her message, loud and clear. "Okay," he began, walking warily toward her. "You read what happened." Sitting down next to her, she could feel that he was still too warm, and she felt shitty for having brought this up, but he kept talking. "You could have killed me in my sleep, but you didn't," he said, taking her hand in his, "which means you understand what I had to do. You don't like it, but you understand. Or," he made an unpleasant expression, "maybe you have plans to poison my food so I die slow and painful-like." 

“No, I don’t like it,” Darcy agreed. She looked down at their hands. “I get that sometimes, agents have to do things like that on missions. At least, I thought I got that. But I didn’t realize how much I wouldn’t like it being _you_.” She squeezed his hand, then gave him a sideways glance. “I don’t really think it’d be fair to murder you for it. I mean, it’s not like you wanted to...” Her voice trailed off.

Clint gave Darcy a look. “No. I didn’t.” He rubbed his thumb against her hand. “For the record, I didn’t sleep with her. I don’t know if that makes it better or not,” he said, his voice still scratchy. “We kissed, made out a little. I got the information I needed, and that was that.” He’d slipped something into her drink, just to make her sleep. Darcy remembered seeing that note.

“I don’t know, either,” Darcy told him. She supposed it did help to know that, but she imagined it might feel worse, someday, when he had another mission where he had to actually have sex with someone. But what if she had to, one day? 

Darcy pushed that thought aside for the moment. “I think...” she hesitated. “I think I’d rather know, at least when it’s a mission I’m cleared to know about.” That was something else, the knowledge that she wouldn’t always know where he was or what he was doing when he was called away. But again, it was part of the job, and she wasn’t going to hold that against him when she’d known it coming in. She slid her arm around him and lay her head on his shoulder, and a moment later felt him rest his head against hers. “You’re still warm,” she murmured after a long moment.

“Yeah,” Clint replied. He lifted his head. “Too warm for you?” He started to pull away, and Darcy held him tighter. 

“A little. You need some more medicine.” Darcy kissed him on the cheek. “If you feel like sitting up or lying on the sofa for a while, I’ll help you out there.” She ruffled his hair. “Then I’ll make breakfast.”

“I thought you said you can’t cook, Your Honor,” Clint told her, a faint grin on his face.

“No, I said I’m not as _good_ a cook as you,” Darcy corrected. She stood up and held her hands out. “I make awesome scrambled eggs, though. And chicken and dumplings, which I will start working on after breakfast.”

“Real chicken and dumplings?” he asked, letting her pull him up. Clint walked over to the dresser and pulled out a t-shirt to put on. 

“My grandma’s recipe,” Darcy said with a nod. “You were low on groceries, so I picked up a few things. There’s juice, too, which I thought might be a good change from the Gatorade.”

“My girl,” he said with a smile. Then Clint’s expression changed, a little wary again. “So... we’re good, aren’t we?” 

Darcy nodded. They would probably have more talks like this, as they tried to negotiate work and their relationship, making everything work together. But she knew it would be okay, if they could talk things out. “Yeah, we’re good.” She kissed him, then hovered as he walked out to the living room. Darcy got the quilt off the recliner and tucked it over him, and they had a quiet breakfast, watching cartoons.

Clint napped while Darcy cleaned up the breakfast dishes and started the chicken. It took a while to get it cooked and deboned, and then she put the meat back in the broth and let it simmer while she made the dough for the dumplings. By the time Clint awoke near lunchtime, the pot of soup was finished and keeping warm on the stove, and the entire apartment smelled delicious. Darcy brought him his next dose and a glass of juice. She held out a box of tissues when he sneezed. 

“You’re going to spoil me,” he said, protesting, as she carried over a bowl of the steaming chicken and dumplings. But he didn’t sound all that upset, and something in his eyes told Darcy that Clint liked this, being taken care of for a change. Maybe _needed_ it.

“Play your cards right, and I might be persuaded to give you a sponge bath later,” Darcy told him with a smirk. 

Clint laughed as he tucked into his lunch. "Wait - did you say you went bra shopping with Natasha?" Darcy laughed at the stunned look on his face and picked up her own bowl, and they settled into the sofa, watching television and enjoying each other's company.


	7. Chapter 7

"Hey Lewis." 

Darcy looked up from her cubicle to see Agent Helburg peering down at her. "Hey," she responded. "What's up?" she asked, recalling him from her trainee cohort.

"Not bad," he said, giving her an appreciative look. "They're looking for you. Meeting in the big guy's office."

"Wait, when you say big guy-"

"Yeah. Fury. And you're late," he added, drumming his hands against the top of her cubicle. Darcy closed out the file she was working on and headed upstairs to Fury's office. The room was already crowded, she saw, spotting Sitwell, Natasha, and Clint, who was pacing off to the side. He didn't look happy. 

"Agent Lewis, thank you for joining us." Nick Fury pointed at the empty chair in front of his desk, next to the one occupied by Natasha. "Lewis, how long have you been with us here?"

She tried to keep the confusion off her face. Surely someone could have looked this up if they wanted to know. "Three months, sir."

"And what is your current security level?" he asked, standing and sitting on the edge of his desk. 

"Level Three," she answered. "Is something wrong, sir?" she asked, wondering what was going on. Natasha and Sitwell were stone-faced, but Clint looked clearly upset. 

Fury looked over at Sitwell, who turned slightly in his seat to face her. "We received information this morning that our target, Valjean-"

"He calls himself Valjean?" Fury asked, a look of disbelief on his face.

"Yep," Sitwell responded, rolling his eyes. "His own adopted name. This is the level of delusion with which we are dealing. A man who feels persecuted, betrayed by his own country. A marked man with an agenda and the resources to back him up. Despite having his passport revoked, he's managed to remain one step ahead of us for a long time, gathering a significant cache of weapons. A cache that, according to today's report, has gone nuclear."

Darcy's eyes went wide. Last she read Valjean had gathered millions of dollars in high-tech firearms and surface to air missiles, which was scary enough. Nuclear meant something entirely different.

“If that’s true, his plans could be bigger than we thought. Might be he’s decided it's time for some payback.” She looked over at Fury. “If he’s gained access to one of the known caches of nuclear weapons, or if he’s gotten his hands on weapons-grade plutonium... he can write his own ticket.” He could do anything. Make his own weapons, sell them to the highest bidder... or use them. “We know where he’s going to be next, and that some sort of deal is in place. But what’s his angle? Selling nuclear arms to, say, a North Korea to fund his pet project, or is he still buying, trying to build his own personal stockpile a little bigger?”

The questions were rhetorical, but Darcy had a bad feeling that they didn’t want to find out the answer, one way or another. Which meant... “He needs to be stopped. Now. And we need his contact list.”

Sitwell nodded, turning to Fury, who seemed impressed. "Not bad, Lewis." He looked at Natasha, who nodded, and glanced at Clint, who just turned away, looking out the window. "Make it happen, Agent Sitwell. I want wheels up in two hours, all of you on this one."

Darcy nodded at Fury, suddenly wary. She glanced at Natasha and then toward Clint. She could see his reflection in the window, and his expression looked dangerous. “...All of us?” she repeated. 

“That is correct, Agent Lewis.” Fury moved back behind his desk and sat down, folding his arms on the surface. “Agent Sitwell has given me glowing reports about your work. You will accompany Barton and Romanoff to Venice, where your job will be to hack into this _Valjean’s_ computer and get us that contact list.”

He leaned forward. “Make no mistake, I had my misgivings about involving an agent as new as yourself on a mission this sensitive, but given your performance, I’m convinced.” Fury paused, and Darcy wasn’t sure what that assessing look meant. “I understand what Agent Coulson meant about you now,” he added. Darcy didn't respond right away - she couldn't, not with that lump in her throat, but as everyone gathered their things and left the room, she understood that time was of the essence, and she needed to go as well.

She expected Clint to be waiting for her in the hallway, but he wasn't. She didn't spot him at all until she'd gathered her purse and laptop and headed for the elevator. Stepping onto the first one heading down, Darcy looked up to see him getting on with her. "I know you're not happy about this."

"You are damn right I am not happy about this." Clint didn't even try to conceal his anger. "You are not ready for this, and I know what you're thinking. You think this is because of us, you and me and it's not. I'd be saying this about anyone who's been an agent for three months, barely out of training. You are not ready." 

Darcy let him get it all out, knowing he'd been biting his tongue during the meeting with Fury. "You're probably right." Reaching out her left hand, she touched his arm, and could feel the tension. "Hey, c'mon." Looking over at the elevator panel, she pressed the STOP button and turned back to Clint. "Barton. It's going to be okay. I'm gonna go and do my nerd computer hacking thing from the safehouse or hotel or unmarked van, or whatever else you spies use. I'm going to be okay." Sliding close to him, she rested her head on his shoulder. "If anything, it's you I'm worried about. This guy's gone from bonkers to certifiable and they're sending two people to stop him."

“Two people who have had years of experience taking down people just like him,” Clint returned. He reached up and stroked her hair, but Darcy could tell he was still angry. “If this mission goes to shit, Darcy, you might _not_ be okay, you know that? All it takes is some bad intel, a leak somewhere...” He lifted her chin and made her look him in the eye. “You’re right, he’s certifiable, which means he’s also unpredictable. I don’t want you anywhere near this.”

Then he dropped his hands. “But I don’t get a say in that.”

Darcy stared at him. “You tried, though, didn’t you? Before I came in. That’s why Fury made the call, why you were already so upset.”

Clint caught her by the shoulders. “Yes. I tried to find someone else. Then I argued for you to work remotely, from headquarters. But Sitwell says you’re the best he’s seen in years. He wants to see what you can do under fire.” 

Darcy blinked. “That’s--”

“Don’t you dare say ‘that’s good,’” Clint warned her, his eyes blazing. 

“I wasn’t going to,” Darcy retorted. “Clint... I have a job to do, too. Orders to follow. I won’t take any stupid risks, all right? Is that what you want to hear? Because I can’t tell you I won’t go. You and I both know I am.” 

He glared at her a moment longer before leaning in and kissing her forehead. "Brat," she heard him mumble into her skin, and she grabbed at the side of his shirt, fisting the fabric in her hands. 

"Old grump," she answered back, kissing the exposed bit of skin near his neck. "We're gonna take care of each other out there. And Natasha will keep an eye on both of us." Clint nodded against her, one more long hug before he reached out and pressed the elevator buttons, getting them moving again. Wheels up in two hours, she remembered, and there wasn't a lot of time to pack. 

In the end, Darcy hadn’t needed to pack. When she and Clint joined Natasha in the garage, there were two agents already loading luggage into the back of the SUV. Darcy asked, and Natasha just said, “I took care of it.” Then they were on their way to the airfield, and Darcy was concentrating on her tablet, trying to absorb all of the details her newly-minted Level Five status gave her access to. She was quiet until they were on the jet.

“How long until we get there?” she asked. 

“Five hours, maybe six.” Clint still wasn’t happy, she could see that, but he seemed resigned to her being included now. Natasha didn't seem to be watching them close, but Darcy knew better. 

 

They all settled into the safehouse. It wasn't large, but there was space for everyone to spread out. Even so, Darcy wasn't surprised when Clint passed his room and dropped his travel bag in her room, stopping to kiss her cheek before hitting the shower. She felt his disappointment, and though she wanted more than anything to fix things between them, it was late and they were tired - and this might not be the sort of problem that words would solve.

Darcy unpacked her toiletries and changed into her night clothes. It was the middle of the night in Italy, and as nervous as Darcy was, she hadn't been able to sleep on the trip down. She hadn't eaten anything either, so she padded down to the kitchen to see if there was anything there. Natasha apparently had the same idea. "Anything good here?" 

Natasha glanced up from inspecting a drawer. “There’s bread and cheese.” She found a knife and began slicing the bread.

“Sounds okay to me,” Darcy agreed. She got out another knife and began slicing a round of mozzarella cheese. Soon they were settled at the table, with bottles of lemon soda Darcy had found in the refrigerator. She nibbled on a bite of bread and cheese, hungry but at the same time so nervous she wasn’t sure she could eat. 

“You’ll feel better if you eat it,” Natasha told her. She was halfway through her first piece already. “In the morning, we’ll set up communications. It won’t be much different than what you’ve done in the office, really.” Except it was, and they both knew it. “Jane says you work well under pressure. I’ve seen that, too.”

“I think once things really get started, I’ll be fine,” Darcy admitted. She knew it was just that she had the time to actually think and worry right now, and that she was tired, and upset after disagreeing with Clint. “I’m not going to distract him, am I?” 

“...I don’t think so,” Natasha said, shaking her head. “You have a great deal of common sense, Darcy, and we’re all professionals. That’s not something I think you should worry about.”

“Well, that’s something, at least,” Darcy replied. She finished the last bite of her bread and cheese and assembled another piece.

“He’s not angry at you. If anything, I think he’s pissed at Sitwell and Fury for letting you come. And me, for suggesting you in the first place for this mission.” Natasha took a long swig from her soda, leaning against the counter as they shared the snack. 

"Oh, I'm pretty sure he's mad at me. Nothing we won't get through." Darcy knew this was the first (second?) of many bumps they'd deal with, working where they did. "Thanks again for believing in me." 

Natasha nodded in that eerie silent way of hers that Darcy was slowly getting used to. It made her smile, imaging her and Clint as partners working together. "You really are quite talented. Above all, Fury rewards talent and you have demonstrated a significant amount of knowledge, one that I want protecting me and mine." Natasha took another bite, chewing slowly. "Are you okay with all of this? I knew we went kind of fast today."

"I'm terrified," Darcy admitted. "Again, nothing I can't get through. First date jitters, you know what I mean? Once I'm set up and in the zone, I'll be cool. Until then," she shrugged, looking out the small window. Their safe house wasn’t in the fanciest neighborhood, on fringe of the historic city center, near the bus terminal and train station, but it was still Venice, and the view from the kitchen looked straight off of a postcard. "Is this what it's usually like for you guys?" 

"Mostly," Natasha pushed the last piece of bread into her mouth. "Clint sleeps a lot, and cleans his weapons. Don't be hurt if he's uncommunicative. Afterward," she grinned a little. "Afterward, the endorphins kick in and he gets silly. That's always the best part."

Darcy watched her face as she spoke about Clint. "You love him." Nothing angry or recriminating in her tone, just... curiosity.

It took Natasha a moment to answer, looking for the right words. "If I were to use that word in relation to anyone I know, it would be Clint, but not in the way people would think. He's my family. He saved my life, and I owe him everything."

"I'm sure he'd say the same about you." 

"Probably," Natasha told her, matter-of-factly, standing and stretching. “You should try to sleep. I’ll clean this up.” She began clearing the remains of their snack away.

Darcy finished her soda. “So, you and Jane... you seem to get along really well,” she said, recalling Natasha’s mention of her earlier. 

“I enjoy her company,” Natasha replied. 

“Good. I think she likes you, too,” Darcy replied. “Just... be careful with her, okay?” Darcy worried a little about Jane. She had wondered if Jane and Thor would make things work, but she honestly wasn’t sure what was going on there. All she knew was that they spent some time together, and they didn’t seem to be exclusive at all. But she thought there could be something between Jane and Natasha, especially after their shopping trip. 

Natasha raised an eyebrow, but she nodded. “I will.” 

“Okay,” Darcy replied. “Good night.”

“Good night, Darcy.” Natasha settled into a chair with her tablet. “You could call me Tasha. If you want,” she added. 

She tilted her head, looking at the other woman for a long moment, aware that this was about more than just a name. It was an offering of friendship, or maybe Natasha deciding to include Darcy as one of her own. Darcy smiled and nodded. “I’d like that. ‘Night, Tasha.”

Sitwell nodded at Darcy as they passed in the hallway. It was a little weird seeing him in anything casual, his Yankees shirt and sweatpants a far cry from his usual sharp appearance. The door was shut when she reached the room she was sharing with Clint, and Darcy opened it cautiously, poking her head in before slipping inside. “It’s just me,” she said. It looked as if he'd tried to stay awake reading, but it was clear that he'd drifted off at some point. "Go back to sleep, baby," she told him, sliding into bed next to him. He reached out and turned off the lamp, and a moment later they were cuddling, nestling against each other like they had several times before. 

Darcy pulled him closer, smiling to herself at the thought of them here. She'd never slept with another person like this before, so close she could hear his heart beating and still - they hadn't made love. Something always stopped them, the moment never perfect. Even now, the walls were thin enough that she could hear the television program that Sitwell was watching. She waited a moment to see if Clint wanted to talk, if he had anything to say, but no, nothing. His nose nuzzled the top of her hair and she kissed his neck, before her body took over and demanded sleep. 

 

The next morning was quiet, as Natasha had predicted. Darcy walked with Clint to the nearest market, checking out the area along the way. When they returned, she and Sitwell set up the computers and tested the comms. Then there was lunch, and after that there were a few hours to rest and prepare. Darcy was not surprised when after the meal she found Clint in their room, his bow case open as he inspected it from top to bottom. She _was_ a little surprised to see him place it back in the case and then hold out his hand. 

“Give me your sidearm,” he told her, and Darcy slid it from the shoulder holster she wore under her jacket. She watched as Clint disassembled the gun, checking it thoroughly before putting it back together. He handed it to her with a look that might have been approving if he wasn’t still so irritated. He moved on to his own guns, and then she watched him check the concealed blades in his vest, but after another moment of silence he looked up. “You got good marks in self-defense and shooting,” he said. 

"Yeah," she answered, and Clint let it go. It was as if today something between them shifted, from a couple to co-workers, but it wasn't wrong, Darcy understood and in a way appreciated it. She needed to view him as an operative whose life was in her hands. Both of them depended on her feeding them the right information, and that's what she was going to do.

 

By five in the afternoon local time, everyone had headed to their places. Darcy was plugged into SHIELD's databanks and actively working on tapping into Valjean's communications network. She'd located credit card purchases by his chief bodyguard near the hotel they suspected he was staying at, and once she got a positive voice recognition hit on a hotel phone, she relayed the information to both Clint and Natasha. "He's at the Hotel Danieli. Someone just placed an order for room service, looks like he's eating in today." 

"Understood." Darcy knew that Natasha would be pretending to be Blanca, one of the arms dealing sisters whom they had in custody. One of those cases where she'd be wearing her special undergarments, Darcy mused, though it shouldn't get that far. 

Clint once told her the best plans were the simplest, and this one didn't seem too difficult on the surface. Natasha and Valjean were set to meet that evening, his bodyguards escorting her from a designated spot. Darcy had figured out that he was staying in the royal suite, an oversized set of rooms that would give Clint some cover, once he snuck in from the balcony. 

After the meeting started, Clint presumably would swoop in when Natasha gave the signal and the two of them would subdue Valjean and his goons. With any luck, they'd all be heading home by midnight local time. 

That was the plan, at any rate. SHIELD had tapped into Italian government web cameras, and Darcy could follow the gondola heading toward the spot where Natasha waited, wearing some designer dress that cost more than the car Darcy drove in college. "Two oversized goons headed your way, about one hundred yards out," she told Tasha, who nodded once to let Darcy know she understood. 

“Got them,” Sitwell said in Darcy’s ear. He was monitoring Natasha to make sure the deception went smoothly. On another of the computer screens, Darcy had the hotel’s security feed and had picked up Clint, already in the building. She watched him walk up the staircase that led to the top floor. The hallway was empty; Darcy gave him the all-clear and he moved out of the stairwell. “The room next door is unoccupied,” she told him. A few more keystrokes ensured it would stay that way. There was a convenient balcony that would give Clint access to the royal suite. 

She checked on Natasha again and spotted her stepping into the boat with the two goons. Everything looked fine as they set out from the pickup spot, but then a slow moving vaporetto blocked her view for a moment, and when it had cleared the shot the smaller boat was gone. “I’ve lost visual on Romanoff,” she reported. Darcy checked for other angles, but the boat was no longer on the Grand Canal. “Agent Sitwell, do you--”

“I’ve lost her, too, damn it. Find her, Lewis!”

“I’m on it.” Shit. She checked the other nearby cameras, looking for them. “I have her,” she said after a moment. “Something’s not right. They’re on the Rio Nuovo, moving fast.” Darcy scanned the area. “There’s the bus terminal and the train station...” She watched as they bypassed the piers for the bus and car lots. “Looks like that’s where they’re headed. Stazione Santa Lucia.” Looked like they were taking her back to the mainland. Pressing the microphone, she looked over at the camera focused on Romanoff's boat. "Tasha, something's up. You are going in the wrong direction." Nothing. "Tasha, can you hear me?"

She wasn't responding. Darcy could hear Natasha speaking, making small talk in flawless Italian, and as she followed along she began to realize what had happened. “It’s the police,” Darcy told Sitwell blankly. “An undercover job.” Even though Darcy could still hear Natasha and the cops clearly, it was evident that Darcy's messages weren't going through. 

Their communications were down, and her agent was compromised. "Fuck. They’re taking her in for questioning." 

Sitwell had come to that conclusion at the exact same time. Jumping out of his chair, he grabbed the set of keys to the car they had tucked away in the garage down the street near the Piazzale Roma, to be used in cases of emergency. This felt like an emergency. "Keep trying to get a hold of her," Sitwell told her, checking his gun and grabbing his jacket. "I'm going to figure out a way to get her out of there. And tell Barton the mission's off, get him out too."

"Full abort?" she asked, her heart racing at how fast this was happening. 

"We sure the hell are," Sitwell said. "You sit tight, get Clint back here and you two start packing. If they know she's a plant, we'll need to get out of here." 

So this was what it was like when the mission went bad. "Hey Barton, the mission's gone fubar. Time to come in, little bird." 

"Barton--Clint, Clint can you hear me? I repeat, the mission is a no go." Nothing. Panic set in when it became clear he couldn't hear her, _no, not this, not Clint too_. "Talk to me Clint, come on something. A cough, or whistle, let me know you can hear me."

Silence. _Shit_. Darcy scanned the hotel security feed, looking for any sign of him. She tried to see if she could find a camera with an angle on the balcony, but there was nothing. 

The crash of broken glass was loud enough to make her jump. “What the hell--” The words were bitten off by a quiet noise, the whisper of an arrow leaving the bow. Darcy had a brief moment of relief, but then there were more sounds. Fighting, hand-to-hand, and shouting. Two or three voices, one of them Clint’s. Then a solid blow, the sound enough to make Darcy’s stomach lurch. 

Her blood ran cold as she listened. Two voices now, both out of breath and aggrieved. But neither of them were his. She sat there frozen for a moment, her mind racing.

_Fuck._ Clint was stuck at the hotel, and while she knew he was ordinarily more than capable of taking care of himself, he was outnumbered and maybe hurt, with no help on the way. Unless...

Darcy charged into the bedroom and flung the garment bag that Natasha had packed for her onto the bed. She jerked the zipper open and stared for just a moment at the sexy, black strapless dress before pulling it out. Even if Sitwell got to Tasha fast, they might not make it in time. Getting to the hotel fast was the best plan she could think of. She threw the dress on the bed. In one of the bag’s pockets she found heels, and in another a thigh holster, a pair of silky thigh-high stockings, and a strapless bustier. Darcy undressed quickly and pulled the undergarments on. 

_Thank God it fastens up the front,_ she thought as her fingers tugged on the row of hooks. There were a pair of hard ridges along the front of the bustier, and she felt along until she found the ends, cleverly hidden alongside the underwires. Custom made to measure, she remembered, and slid one thin blade out an inch before slipping it back into place. Darcy tugged the dress on and slipped into the shoes. There was a wrap and a small purse in the bag, and she picked it up. Inside was a compact, lipstick, and a small dart gun. A side pocket held some cash, all in Euros. Darcy shook her head and tucked her handgun into its holster, then slid her skirt back down. 

Then she checked her watch. Thirty minutes to the scheduled meeting time. She tried texting Sitwell as she ran out the door. 

COULDN’T GET AN ANSWER, BUT C SOUNDED BUSY. ARE WE STILL ON FOR DRINKS AT THE HOTEL? FEEL FREE TO DROP IN LATER W/TASHA, KTHX.

***  
Darcy pulled her wrap over her shoulders as she paid the water taxi driver and stepped out onto the pier. She had made good time, and she forced herself to walk gracefully up the front steps of the hotel even though her legs were still a little wobbly from the rapid boat ride. She let the wrap slide down to her elbows as she gathered her skirt in one hand, and smiled at the doorman. 

Stairs... there. She walked purposefully across the lobby, her eyes scanning the space as she started up the staircase. She bypassed the elevators, catching sight of a discreet sign on the wall pointing the way to the section of the hotel where the suite was located. Darcy followed the twisting corridors and another set of stairs until she encountered an attendant outside a gilt-trimmed door.

Something looked a little off about him, and she took a deep breath, her hand tightening on her bag as she approached. 

“Buona sera,” she told him with a hint of a smile. “Sono qui per vedere il Signor Valjean.” [I am here to see Mr. Valjean.] She watched as his eyes fell to her chest, and Darcy leaned in slightly, hoping she wasn’t going to have to say much more. Her Italian had its limits. She took another step closer, taking advantage of his distraction to slip the dart gun out of her bag. She smiled seductively as he lifted his eyes to hers, and then she fired. 

He looked surprised for the fraction of a second he was conscious.

That first wave of nerves rolled off of her, and she bit back the urge to vomit. _Play it cool, Lewis_ , she thought to herself, but the voice in her head sounded suspiciously like Clint. Darcy took a breath, blowing out of her mouth and then straightened her dress before she reached down, pulled the key card out of the bodyguard's pocket and unlocked the door to the suite. 

"Signor Valjean." Darcy spotted the target sitting on a plush sofa, reading something from his tablet. She didn't know what she was expecting from an international arms dealer with delusions of grandeur, but he seemed much younger than she expected. 

He stood, a slightly confused look on his face, though he recovered well. "Who are you?" Darcy could see him searching for his bodyguard, and she began to wonder if he were alone in here. That would make things easier for them all. 

"I thought we were meeting tonight, Signore. This has been planned for several weeks, no?" Darcy asked, hoping she looked more confident than she felt. 

He still seemed doubtful. "I heard you were arrested."

_Probably arranged it, getting Natasha pulled in. Play it cool, Lewis,_ she told herself. All she had to worry about now was the gun on his hip, and wondering where Clint was. "You heard wrong. I find a little well-placed cash generally prevents such unpleasantness." She stepped closer, opening her hands so he saw they were empty but for her small purse. 

Valjean didn't appear to believe her. "I do not know you," he repeated, though he didn't seem to be too worried about making her leave.

"Yes you do." Darcy smiled at him, warm and inviting, and even though her heart beat like a drum in her chest, she knew she had to get this guy in order to get Clint out of here. "We've been communicating for months."

"I do not think so." Still, he seemed enamoured enough with her body that he allowed her to step closer, and Darcy understood now what Tasha meant when she had her special underwear, and why she needed to use it. Valjean looked down at her, his gaze cold and assessing. “But there’s one way to find out.” 

He stepped back and gestured her toward a set of double doors. Darcy swallowed, but managed to smile and glance up at him through her lashes as she complied. Her hands clutched her bag as she scanned the room without turning her head, but they were truly alone. The sickening feeling in her stomach told her that she wasn’t going to like what she saw behind that door. 

“Allow me,” Valjean murmured in her ear, brushing past her to open the doors. Darcy bit the inside of her cheek hard when she saw the scene in the bedroom. 

Clint was tied to an ornate armchair, his arms and legs bound tightly. There was blood on his face; not all his own, she thought, taking in the bruises and a cut on his brow. They wouldn’t account for that much, even given the way head wounds bled. Her quick assessment ended when her eyes locked with his. He wasn’t badly hurt, but that cold fury on his face was telling. She tried to shoot him a reassuring look. Then she turned and arched a brow at Valjean. 

“Your tastes are more varied than I imagined,” she said, her voice low. “Or is he a present?” She took a step toward Clint, then glanced back at Valjean. “For me?”

“You don’t know him?” Valjean looked like he almost believed her. Darcy could see it. 

Reaching into her small purse, she pulled out the dart gun, which looked like a small revolver, noting how Valjean's eyes went wide as she aimed it at Clint’s right shoulder. Clint’s eyes widened, too, and Darcy held his gaze for a fraction of a second. _I'm sorry, baby_ , she thought, then pulled the trigger and steeled her face as she watched him fight against the ropes before slumping in the chair. "Sadly, no,” Darcy lied. “I think I’d remember those arms."

Valjean looked like he couldn't believe what he had just seen. His expression said he was reassessing her. "Impressive." He paused. 

Darcy gave him a smile, inwardly sighing with relief. That was one hurdle out of the way. On the other hand, she wondered how dumb he could possibly be. That had been a little too easy. "Why don't we forget this little unpleasantness and start over?" she suggested, holding out her hand. She needed to get him away from Clint before he realized that he hadn't really been shot. "We've been acquainted for too long to be at odds, Signor Valjean. I had hoped we would be good friends." 

His eyes lingered on her breasts as he took her hand. “Perhaps we will,” Valjean said, lifting her hand to his lips. 

“You have the files ready?” Darcy asked. She looked up at him through her lashes as he kissed her hand. 

“Why the rush?” he asked, pulling her against him. 

Darcy gave a soft noise, lifting her head and arching her back to get a little distance between them. “I always conduct business before pleasure, Valjean,” she murmured, hoping he didn’t notice the way her heart was pounding, or that if he did, he assumed it was lust. “Even with the very best of friends.” Darcy had just one last tranquilizer dart left, so she made herself relax against him, moving in close and aiming for the fleshy part of the thigh. She shot Valjean so quickly that he didn't even realize what had happened at first. 

“You bitch,” Valjean snarled when he felt the dart. He grabbed her hair, his grip surprisingly strong for someone who looked like they lived in front of a computer. Darcy cried out, dropping the purse and the empty dart gun in the struggle. She shoved his hand out of the way as he tried to reach for his gun and it went flying, sliding somewhere just out of her line of sight. Darcy jerked herself free, stumbling and falling as he knocked her off balance. 

Her hands scrambled to get to her gun in the holster strapped to her thigh, but all the while she was watching as the tranquilizer took effect, his movements getting sluggish. She backed away, hampered by the long skirt of her dress as he lunged toward her, but Darcy closed her hand on her gun at last. At that moment she saw the drug consume him, the frustrated rage on his face as he fell to the floor. 

Darcy edged forward, her heart racing and her gun still aimed squarely at his head. Outside she heard footsteps approaching and someone trying the door, the mechanical noise of the electronic lock loud in the sudden silence of the room. She turned, her gun at the ready as the door burst open and first Sitwell, then Natasha rushed inside.

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, and her gun fell to her side as Darcy rolled to her knees. Natasha took in the room with a single sweeping glance and descended upon Valjean, her face as grim as she secured him with some zip ties. 

“Get his tablet,” Darcy told them, her voice sounding remarkably steady to her own ears. She nodded toward it, lying underneath an ornate coffee table. “He was armed, too. Didn’t see where the gun landed.”

She crawled over to where Clint was sprawled in the chair and touched his cheek, then started tugging at the knots. Once he was free he started to slide from the chair, but Darcy caught him by the shoulders. She felt the end of the dart, still stuck in his vest, and she tugged it out and tossed it aside, then unzipped the vest and wrestled it off. His pulse was steady, if a little slow, and he felt warm beneath her fingers. Darcy sighed, her head bowed as relief flowed through her.

“What happened?” Natasha had finished with Valjean and hurried over while Sitwell dragged the bodyguard inside and checked the rest of the suite. 

“Valjean didn’t believe me. I had to try to gain his trust,” Darcy said, her voice flat.

Natasha reached over and lifted Darcy’s chin, examining a scratch on her cheek. She was quiet for a long moment, but didn’t look like she was rethinking her decision to trust Darcy with Clint, at least. That was something, she supposed. “You did what you had to,” Tasha said simply. 

And then it was all over. She spent the next hour watching in awe as Tasha began soothing over the hotel staff, speaking with such authority that everyone seemed to believe her tale of a domestic dispute, even though it really made little sense. Sitwell had bundled off Valjean and his goons before she even noticed they were all gone. 

Darcy's orders were to get Clint back to the safehouse, keep him safe and sound, and out of harm's way from anyone who might try and retaliate. By this time he had revived a little, and though still groggy he was able to stand. Sort of. She took him into one of the powder rooms and cleaned him up enough that she thought they could get back without attracting the wrong sort of attention.

Clint was still out of it as they walked down the corridor, murmuring things that made her blush as he leaned against her. He was heavy, but she managed to lead him down to a side door and out of the hotel. She was still in her strapless dress, so it wasn't too hard convincing a gondolier to help her get her ‘drunk’ boyfriend into and out of the boat. It was a beautiful night, and Darcy imagined that any other time, being snuggled next to Clint in a gondola would be pretty romantic. As it was, she kept up a quiet stream of conversation, trying to keep him awake. 

Once inside the safehouse, Darcy deposited him on the bed and watched him fall like a rock, groaning as he landed. "C'mon, big boy, give me those feet," she told him, pulling off his boots and pants. 

A series of soft beeps told her that she had a text message from Sitwell. _Agent Romanoff and I are taking Valjean in before the Italians realize what went down. Heading to New York within the hour, will arrange transport for you tomorrow. Stay put, keep your heads down._

Stay put. She could do that. Darcy had just kicked off her shoes when she heard her name. "Darcy..."

She lifted her head and saw a sad and confused look on Clint's face. "Hey there, honey." She saw anxiety filling his face, and she sat next to him. "It's okay, you're back at the safehouse now. Just go to sleep, you'll feel better later."

Clint's voice was low and groggy. "You shot me," he told her accusingly, and she realized he was still muddled.

"I know," she told him, tugging at the rest of his clothes, undressing him down to his boxer briefs. She examined the spot where the dart hit him, the skin irritated and red. "But I had to."

His sorrowful eyes looked up into hers before his head dropped. "I just," he sighed, his forehead pressed against her shoulder, "...thought you loved me."

Darcy's hand stilled, her heart beating in her chest, and she couldn't help that smile that spread slowly on her face. "I do," she whispered, pushing a sweaty tendril of hair off his temple. "I love you, Clint." His face broke into a slow smile, and she felt those arms wrap tight around her, his body relaxing into hers. "I take care of you, and you take care of me right?"

"Yeah," he told her, looking at her with sleepy eyes. 

"Lie down, baby, okay?" 

He stretched out obediently, taking up the majority of the small bed. But there was just enough room for her to curl up next to him, so she took off her fancy dress and bra, dropping them on the floor. Darcy put on the undershirt she'd just taken off of Clint, still warm from his body and smelling like him, and she fell asleep with one leg thrown over Clint, one hand resting on his chest. 

Protecting this man she loved.

***

Darcy opened her eyes. Sunlight was pouring into the window, a beam warming her toes. She was wrapped in Clint’s arms, still draped over him, her head resting against one bicep. He was still warm, his hands gentle as they stroked her skin, one at her shoulder and the other resting low on her hip.

Darcy reached up to touch his cheek, his stubble prickly beneath her fingers as she looked up at him. Clint was awake, watching her, his eyes now clear of the fog that had clouded them the night before. He tightened his hold on her, a little smile on his face as he drew her more snugly against him. She sighed as Clint nuzzled against her, and Darcy slipped her hand down to his neck, stroking the short hairs at his nape as their lips touched. 

It was quiet, just the sounds of morning from outside, the soft noises of their kisses and the whisper of skin against skin as they lay there together. Darcy felt his hold on her hip shift, Clint’s hand sliding up over her side to where his undershirt had ridden up around her waist during the night, and then he was pushing it up and she let go long enough to help get it over her head. 

Then Clint rolled them on the narrow bed so that he was propped above Darcy. He kissed her again, giving a gentle tug to her bottom lip before trailing kisses down over her neck. She shivered and arched, lifting her chin and inviting more. Darcy’s breath hitched as she felt his hand skim up her side and she reached up, cradling the back of his head with one hand while her other clutched a fistful of bedding. A quiet, breathless noise escaped her when Clint’s hand curled around her breast, giving it a squeeze as his thumb teased her hard nipple. He looked up at her then, watching her face for a brief moment before he lowered his head again, his tongue darting out to swipe at her other nipple before his mouth closed over it. 

She whined softly when she felt Clint’s hand drift down over her ribcage, her lips twitching as he found the ticklish spot he’d taken full advantage of before. But the mood this morning was different, something less playful than their earlier explorations. It was more intense, and somehow there wasn’t any need for words. Darcy’s stomach fluttered as his fingers dipped lower and reached the edge of her silky black panties. She cried out when his fingertips grazed over the damp material, her hips rolling upward. 

Her fingers tugged at Clint’s hair, and he groaned as he released her nipple and moved up to kiss her hard. She felt his erection against her hip, he felt so big and hard rubbing against her, but when Clint pulled back he just kept up those light, teasing touches. His eyes were on her face, taking in her every reaction as he slipped his fingers beneath the delicate fabric, then pressed his palm against her.

Darcy shuddered and rubbed against Clint’s hand, and he groaned, rumbling deep in his chest. When he dropped his head down to watch as he ground his hand against her, she stroked the back of his neck. Her other hand uncurled from the bedsheets and Darcy reached over to cover his hand, biting back a moan as she showed him how she liked to be touched. 

He looked back up at her then, his eyes dark and hungry as she guided his hand. She sighed when he leaned in to nip her bottom lip again and then kissed her softly, the feel of his mouth against hers and the rough, soft stroke of his fingers between her legs so good. She could feel her body starting to tense, heat building low inside her, and Darcy rubbed against Clint again, her hand slipping away, back to tangle in the rumpled covers.

When he slipped two blunt fingers inside her Darcy caught her breath, her body squeezing tight around him as he moved them in and out, slow and gentle. She lifted her hips, feeling that heat licking through her body and wanting more, and when Clint pressed in again and grazed his thumb over her clitoris, Darcy felt her body begin to pulse. Then he flicked his tongue over one hard nipple and she shattered, her voice breaking as she cried his name. 

Some part of her brain was still functioning when she managed to draw a shaky breath a few moments later, and she wondered how it was that they’d never gotten this far before. All of the interruptions and miscommunications, she supposed, and then when they had been together for any length of time they’d just moved slow, kissing and making out. She was still on edge when he gave her a hard, wet kiss and pulled away, and Darcy whined, reaching for him as he slipped off the bed. No way did she want to stop, not after that. 

Clint shushed her and pressed his lips against hers as he climbed back up next to her, and when his hand found hers Darcy felt the press of the small foil packet between them. She made a soft noise, then dropped it on the bed next to her and reached out, her fingers slipping beneath the waistband of his shorts. He knelt on the bed, making it easier for her to tug them down, and Darcy's eyes widened when his erection popped out, bobbing in front of her face. She wrapped her lips around the thick head, just the lightest pressure but it was enough to make Clint gasp, and when she looked up and saw his face, she felt that power again, that she could make this man react like this. 

She wanted to spend a few hours exploring what other sounds she could bring out of Clint using only her tongue, but another time. Darcy could smell herself on Clint's thick fingers as they stroked her face, feeling brave as her tongue darted out to taste them. When he pushed one of them inside her mouth slow, she sucked it on it just to see his reaction, his eyes widening with hunger. Her fingers found the foil packet, and Darcy pushed aside her last minute nerves, tearing it open and pulling out the condom. Darcy couldn't help the shy smile as she unrolled it over Clint's cock, his fingers helping her smooth it out. 

Her body was a little tense as she shifted and lay back, and Darcy took a slow breath. It wasn’t that she was scared, exactly, but this was supposed to be a momentous experience and she was hyper aware of her body, and of Clint’s as he nudged her legs apart. Then he was lying on top of her, kissing her neck while he spread her legs a little more, and then... 

It wasn't perfect, but it was _them_ , a little awkward at first, and her entire world narrowed down to the sensation of Clint inside her, his breath hot against her neck. They were as close as two people could be, and then he shifted and Darcy’s hands tightened on his arms, the new angle different. Not so awkward. They moved slow against each other, Clint's hands finding hers, and they grounded themselves in endless kisses as he thrust into her, again and again... 

Then he lost control, Darcy felt it the moment it happened. Like a light switch flipping on, his hips snapped faster, pumping harder, and Clint’s voice went hoarse, shuddering and groaning louder than she'd expected. When it was over, Darcy lifted one of her legs and wrapped it around Clint's hip. His weight was heavy on her but it felt so good, holding him close like this. 

She could get used to this, Darcy thought to herself, stroking her fingers along his chest. He looked so happy, eyes closed as his face lay against her breast and she didn't want to move ever. Then he opened his eyes, blue and green and gold and focused so intently on her that it hurt. 

Darcy reached up to smooth his damp, sweaty hair. “Hi,” she said, a faint smile on her face. She kissed his nose, happiness bubbling inside her, lighter than air. 

“Hi,” Clint replied, his voice a little rough. But he smiled and dropped a kiss on the curve of her breast as he shifted off of her to deal with the condom. She made a soft noise of protest at that, missing the way his body blanketed hers, but then he was back and pulled her against his chest as he kissed her, soft and tender. When it ended, he drew back a little, his fingers nudging her chin up. “This isn’t how I planned it,” he murmured, studying her with that same intense gaze. “You’re... are you okay?”

"I'm okay," she told him, loving that look of concern on his face. "I'm better than okay, baby. That was amazing." Then she thought about what happened to them the day before. "Are you?" she returned the question, wondering how Clint was really feeling inside. Between the sex and the mission, they'd been through a lot together in the last twenty-four hours. 

But he didn't answer her, not with words. His eyes crinkled up at the corners when he smiled, a peaceful look on his face that she didn't see often. Darcy felt his big hand cradling her face, and she leaned into it, looking back at Clint. 

_BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP-_

"I hate that fucking alarm of yours, Barton." She watched as Clint's face broke out into the biggest smile, laughing at her as he reached out for his phone. Her own phone beeped quietly, and she could see over his shoulder they had the same message. 

_Italian authorities furious, need to get yourselves out of there. Disable computer equipment before you leave. Jet will be in Marrakesh in forty-eight hours._

"New plans," Clint said matter-of-factly. "Well okay, then. How's your Arabic?" he asked her, tugging on a long tendril that fell on her face. 

"Nonexistent," Darcy admitted, sitting up and watching as he pulled out his tablet and opened up some maps, her stomach fluttering with this new news. 

He grinned at her. "We better work on that," he said, kissing her shoulder. Playful, that's how Natasha had described him after a mission, and she could see that emerging right now, even as they planned their next mission together. "How about your French?"

Darcy snorted. "Better than my Arabic," she told him, her arm wrapped around his side. 

"Good." Looking down at his watch, she could see him calculating in his head. "We better pack up soon." His eyes lingered on her chest for a moment before he looked up again. "Maybe a quick shower."

"You're unbelievable. People are after us, Barton," she laughed, swatting at his ass as he got up. But it excited her, the thought of traveling undercover for two days with this man, sneaking across the countryside, across borders. Clint stood in front of her, holding out his hands, and she reached out, letting him pull her to her feet. "Maybe a quick one," she murmured, her arms winding around his neck. She let him lead her into the small bathroom.


	8. Chapter 8

Darcy climbed the stairs to Jane’s second-floor apartment and let herself in the unlocked door. “Sorry I’m late,” she called out as she kicked her shoes off in the hall next to Jane’s sneakers. There was a pair of familiar-looking boots there, too, and she grinned as she walked into the kitchen and saw Jane making coffee. “Or am I early?” she asked, innocent.

Jane pointed an accusing finger at her. “You have some explaining to do. I may not have level-whatever security clearance, but I know things.” She pounced before Darcy could react, hugging her tight enough that Darcy squeaked.

“Um, okay. I’ll tell you what I can,” Darcy promised, hugging her back and looking over Jane’s shoulder as Natasha emerged from the bedroom wearing an oversized t-shirt, her hair damp. She raised an eyebrow as she patted Jane on the back. “Jane? _Jane._ I kinda need to breathe, okay?”

Jane let her go, then led her over to the kitchen, where she pulled out another mug. "C'mon, Lewis, spill it. As much as you can, anyway, I know you're supposed to be a spy and all now, but I need to know what happened." Natasha made her way to join them, pouring a cup of coffee for herself. "Tasha filled me in a little on what happened in Italy, how you had to go undercover and kick some ass." 

"She did well," Natasha admitted, one hand resting on Jane's shoulder, squeezing gently. Darcy watched this without saying anything, though the curiosity was eating her up. "Barton told me you made it to Morocco without much incident."

“Yeah, it was pretty uneventful.” She leaned back against the counter, her hands wrapped around her mug of coffee as she thought about those two days. “Once we finished tying up loose ends, we headed out.” They’d traveled light, the two of them looking like backpackers on an extended vacation, only carrying the essentials as they hopped a train headed toward Milan, and from there to the French border. Then there had been a succession; bus to train to ferry, and then, like magic, a tiny, beat-up truck. It had been easy enough--like Clint had mentioned way back on that surveillance mission--to just blend in, a couple in love, traveling together. Between her passable French and the smattering of Arabic he had taught her while they were on the move, she hadn’t felt terribly lost when they’d arrived in Morocco. Or maybe that was because of him. Darcy shrugged. “We kept our heads down, but getting out of Italy fast seemed like a good idea.”

There had been the day and a half in Morocco, then. Or the two nights, with a day in between. “We spent the night in Casablanca, then headed to Marrakesh.” They’d slept that first night, both of them exhausted. But the next night... Darcy smiled into her coffee mug. The hotel in Marrakesh had been clean and comfortable, and there had been considerably less sleeping than the night before. 

“There is something I’d like to know, though,” she began slowly, looking over at Tasha. “Did you plan that--the dress, the ‘working bra’, all of it? I mean, you couldn’t have known what was going to happen, so what made you do that?” It was something that had been nagging at Darcy since she’d emerged from that shower with Clint and they had begun packing things up in the safe house. They’d had to dispose of her dress, reasoning that someone might remember it, but she’d worn the bra again that day. 

Suddenly the toaster made a noise, and two pieces of bread popped out. Natasha began buttering one of them, offering it to Jane before starting on the second. "The first rule in this business is communication. The second is to always be prepared." She handed the toast to Darcy. "You'll see that things rarely run smoothly in our line of work, so it pays to be prepared." She added two more slices of bread to the toaster. "And I knew that you'd be able to take over and help Clint if I couldn't." 

Darcy recalled the look on Clint’s face when she’d shot him with the dart. “I’m glad someone knew I could do it. I wasn’t so sure, myself,” she muttered, but she wasn’t upset. It had all worked out, but she knew Clint had been right in a lot of ways. She _hadn’t_ been ready for that mission, not really. She bit into the toast and chewed slowly. 

“Anyway, it’s done, and you got the guy you were going after,” Jane pointed out around a mouthful of toast. She was making omelets on the tiny stove. “Darce, you want cheese?” 

“You have to ask?” Darcy watched Jane sprinkle a handful of shredded cheese into the skillet. “More, please.”

“All right,” Jane said, dumping in another handful. Then she spoke up again as she poked at the edges of the omelet with the spatula. “So hopefully you’ll have a little down time, now that this is wrapped up.” She glanced over her shoulder with a grin. “Maybe you’ll finally get to have that fancy date you guys have been trying for,” she pointed out. 

“Uh, yeah. Maybe,” Darcy said. “Or maybe we’ll just stay in. Staying in is good,” she said, biting back a smile when she thought of that morning in Venice, or later, at the hotel in Marrakesh. She saw Natasha watching her and felt her face heat. Time to ask some questions of her own. "So, what are you two doing today? Got any special plans?" she asked, pointedly looking at Jane, who to her credit was doing her best to ignore Darcy, flipping her omelets with an exaggerated concentration.

Natasha didn't seem the least bit flustered. "I had suggested that we go see a movie later. There's a new adaptation of 'Much Ado About Nothing,’ it's supposed to be very good. The director filmed it in his own house while working on another blockbuster." The way she rolled her eyes at that told Darcy what Tasha thought of those movies. "It's playing at this little theatre on East Houston. They have really good popcorn, stadium seating." 

"You should join us," Jane told her, carrying the plates over to the small kitchen table, Darcy and Natasha following with the toast. The affectionate look that passed between Jane and Natasha told Darcy all that she needed to know. She didn't need to be a spy to see that they cared about each other. 

All of a sudden, her pocket began to vibrate. 

_Hey baby, some of the guys are going to a game this afternoon. Steve hasn't been to Yankee Stadium yet. You wanna come?_

Tempting… but it sounded like a boys’ day out.

She began to type. _Thanks babe, but I got something else to do. Girl business, you wouldn't understand. But have a good time, don't break Captain America._

_Tony's already bought him a Yankees hat. I'm just sitting back and waiting for the fireworks. Let's get together later, okay? My place at seven?_

 

Yes, staying in sounded very good. "So ladies," Darcy began, a smirk curling the corners of her lips, "maybe after the movie we can swing by that lingerie shop?" She could get something new and lacy. 

She knew Clint liked purple. Maybe tonight she'd see if he liked pink.


End file.
